I K v:'f r\ H.C.CHATFIELD-TAYLOR In a. moment of devilry FAME'S PATHWAY A ROMANCE OF A GENIUS BY H. C. jCHATFIELD -TAYLOR ILLUSTRATIONS BY "JoB" NEW YORK DUFFIELD & COMPANY 1909 COPYRIGHT, 1009, BY DUFFIELD & COMPANY AU Eights, Including those of Dramatisation and Translation, Strictly f served. THE PKEMIEK PRBS3 NEW YORK C39Zf CONTENTS BOOK THE FIRST CHAPTER PAGE I. AGAINST A PAINTED SCENE ... 3 II. A RAY OF SUNLIGHT . . . . 12 III. AT THE SERVICE-TREE TAVERN . . 20 IV. A SALON OF VAGABONDIA ... 30 V. AN HOUR OF PARADISE .... 41 VI. A BEING DIFFERENT FROM THE REST . 51 VII. A DAY FOR JOYOUSNESS .... 58 VIII. THE MAGIC ISLE 69 IX. A FOOL'S PARADISE 76 X. TEMPERED BLISS . ... 87 BOOK THE SECOND I. THE KING'S HIGHWAY .... 99 II. FOREST ADVENTURES . . . .109 III. HONEST LAUGHTER 118 IV. TRINETTE DRAWS A WEAPON . .129 V. A NEW DOMAIN 138 VI. FOND DREAMS REALISED . . .148 VII. THE SALLOW LAWYER . . . .160 VIII. PARIS DEBONAIR 170 IX. KING PETAUD'S COURT . . . .177 CONTENTS CHAFTEB PAGE X. GRIEFS AND CONSOLATIONS . . .188 XI. WITH DRUM AND TRUMPET . . .199 XII. THE DEBUT 207 XIII. EXIT TRINETTE 21 6 BOOK THE THIRD I. THE TOILS OF USURY .... 227 II. THE ANONYMOUS NOTE .... 237 III. TRINETTE RE-ENTERS .... 244 IV. MADELEINE LIES GLIBLY .... 254 V. RENARD'S GARDEN 263 VI. THE SACRISTY OF ST. EUSTACHE . . 271 VII. CATHERINE BOURGEOIS SPEAKS HER MIND 282 VIII. IN THE LAND OF THE BLIND , . . 293 IX. THE DEVIL'S OWN 301 X. IN THE KING'S NAME . . . .311 XI. THE AWAKENING 320 XII. THE SIN OF YOUTH 328 XIII. THE WAY Is LONG . 337 ILLUSTRATIONS IN A MOMENT OP DEVILRY . . . Frontispiece FACING PAGE " You ARE NOT CAST TO PLAY THE FOOL " . 10 A WILD ROUT BURST INTO THE ROOM . . 26 A FAINT BURST OF APPLAUSE CAME FROM THE LIPS OF THE ACTRESSES 46 A PLACE FOR IDLE THOUGHTS AND DREAMING . 66 THE UPSETTING OF ONE MORE GENIUS . .100 "A SCALDED CAT FEARS COLD WATER" . .134 MOLIERE'S HEART THRILLED WITH AWE . .164 " BY SAINT GENEST, I'LL NOT FLEE LIKE A COWARD/' HE SHOUTED . . . .214 HER HEART WAS OPPRESSED, HER SPIRIT ALMOST GONE 262 His EYES REFUSED THEIR OFFICE . . . 278 MOLIERE, STEPPING FROM BEHIND THE CURTAIN, SEIZED HER .... 304 BOOK THE FIRST " A fellow named Moliere left the benches of the Sorbonne to follow Madeleine Bejart" TALLEMANT DES REAUX. " On n'execute pas tout ce qui se propose ; Et le chemin est long du projet a la chose." Le Tartu ffe, III-l. FAME'S PATHWAY CHAPTER I AGAINST A PAINTED SCENE IT was a fateful moment when their glances met Madeleine Bejart standing up to her full height, bare- armed, gracefully formed, radiant, and tall; Jean-Bap- tiste Poquelin, student of the laws, a-tremble and blushing. She saw a thick-lipped youth, and she would not have looked again but for the godlike eyes; in the glare of the candles, he saw a face white and beautiful against the red-gold hair, and love leaped to his heart the ardent love of youth. The crown upon her splendid head was tinsel; the jewels on her breast were glass; but the candid blue eyes were real, he knew, and so were the curving lips. The theatre was but a tennis-court; the stage, rough planks athwart rude trestles; the scenery, a strip of painted cloth. Dull louts stood gaping in the pit; bour geois housewives munched oranges within the tawdry boxes; but, had she played to king and cardinal, she could not have been one whit more a girl to be adored. There may have been some in that city of Paris whose charms were equal to hers, but Jean-Baptiste made cer tain there were none. " One would think you had never seen a pretty ac tress," said the friend who stood beside him Claude Chapelle, young lover of the joys of life and poesy. " I have never seen such an one," he answered with a sigh. " One would think you were in love." 4 FAME'S PATHWAY " I am." Chapelle shrugged. To him, the painted lips were as false as the jewels. Jean-Baptiste was silent also. To tread the stage, and by a gesture or the modulation of a word be knave or king, had been his dream; to hold her in his arms and speak the lines that ranting lover mouthed so badly were unrepented happiness, he thought. Her eyes burned through him, her breast was like white marble in the sunlight; small wonder he did not quell the fire within his heart, since he made no effort. Seated beside the sad-eyed poet with the prompt book, he saw a cavalier, curled and bewigged, with laces and starched linen, and ribbons where his boot- hose met his small-clothes a cavalier, with plumed hat, cloak, and rapier gazing at her from his seat upon the stage. He saw possession in his sneer, a look of surfeit in his cruel eyes ; and then the curtain closed them both from view, while cadaverous fiddlers bowed their wheezy violins and the crowd applauded. " Oranges ! Tisane ! " shrilled a girl with baskets on her dimpled arms. " Oranges ! Tisane ! " rang her cries above the squeaking of the fiddles. The thin, bent, shambling candle-snuffer trimmed the smudging wicks; swains in the pit ogled ruddy beauties in the boxes; matrons yawned; opulent burghers stretched their legs; and meantime, Claude Chapelle bought tisane of the Hebe and pinched her pretty cheeks. " Morbleu ! " he said, when he and Poquelin had drained their glasses and the girl had courtesied thanks., " you may fancy these fat bourgeoises, but I prefer the perfumed ladies of the Hotel de Bourgogne. " AGAINST A PAINTED SCENE 5 His companion's eyes flashed. " The Hotel de Bour- gogne," he answered with asperity, " where fashion flocks and Montfleury rants." "Which means," said Chapelle, curling his incipient moustache, " that a red-haired divinity with her light hidden under a suburban bushel is the greatest actress in France! Alas, you have a rival; else why that fine noble with a seat upon the stage ? " Jean-Baptiste had sparks of fire in his dark eyes, but he beat back the angry torrent rising in his heart. " Since the day when the crowds flocking to see ' The Cid ' were so great that the actors of the Marais were forced to place seats upon the stage, every jackanapes feels it is his right to sit there and comb his wig, while art languishes and the pit groans." " Jealousy, my dear fellow, j ealousy ! Now if you were a fine noble upon a rush-seat chair " " Instead of the humble son of an upholsterer upon his legs," sighed the other wearily, " my toes might ache less, perhaps, but my heart no more." His eyes were fixed upon the curtain and yearned to see beyond; but his friend laughed outright. " Why, you have not even met La Bej art ! " " I hope I never shall," Jean-Baptiste sighed. The crowd in the pit tradesmen, artisans, cut- purses, and valets bumped shoulders with the two young friends: the crowd of gesturing, laughing citi zens in the days when Louis, destined to be called the grand monarch, was only a child, and Richelieu was dying: the golden days before the turbulent Fronde. "Woman is the vice of all mankind," said Chapelle, after a moment's thought. " On the subject we'll agree, if not upon the object." 6 FAME'S PATHWAY For a moment the young student of the laws looked at him searchingly, wondering if the cynicism were sincere or merely banter. " We never agreed upon phil osophy," he said finally; "why should we about women ? " "Philosophy!" scoffed Chapelle; "that takes me back to Gassendi's dull lectures." " Ah, remember ! " cried his friend in protest, " he told us the lot of a man of letters is the best in the world; he told us that beautful poems, learned and re cited daily, elevate the mind, ennoble the style of those who write, and inspire noble sentiments. Dear old Gassendi! His scholastic lectures may have been dull, but he taught me to love Lucretius." Chapelle shook his fine curls. " Pouf ! " he exclaimed. " You live as much in the air as crazy, quarrelling Cyrano de Bergerac." The words recalled to Jean-Baptiste a spadassin with tumid nose who rhymed and fenced with equal grace, and the time when they had been students of Gassendi Chapelle, Cyrano, and he. But three dull knocks upon the stage set his young heart fluttering. The crooning of the fiddles ceased; the shuffling feet grew still; the curtain parted; and he saw her in the candle glare again all white against the dark, till the light caught her loosened hair and framed her face with gold. Her eyes were soft as star-shine; she seemed to step like pliant Artemis; the words she spoke as Dido to JEneas seemed spoken to himself, so it pleased him to dream: "To adore thee as my god, ah, dearest, let me swear; To serve for ever as thy slave would be my chosen part. Ah, never let me leave thy loving eyes, dear heart Wilt thou not promise?" AGAINST A PAINTED SCENE 7 But while he dreamed, his eyes fell on the sneering noble with a seat upon the stage. " If only hate could kill," he thought, gazing at the cavalier from under his dark brows, until behind him he heard a scuffle, shouts, and a deafening din. Turning, he saw two swaggering ruffians tumble the porter from the door. " King's Musketeers do not pay ; way for the King's Musketeers ! " And to bacchanalian cries and laughter, two royal rogues with rapiers drawn swept tradesmen, artisans, and valets to the wall. One beat a dissonant tattoo upon a warming-pan; the other caught the plump serving girl beneath his arm and carried her kicking, screaming, in the air. "Musketeers! " the cry; conster nation on the faces of the crowd; above the crash of breaking bottles, and the pounding of the sword hilt on the pan, shouts of drunken revelry and song. Singing, staggering, the roisterers marched in triumph round the pit; churls tumbled to the floor, actors trembled in their buskins. Alone in the centre of the stage stood Madeleine Bejart. Jean-Baptiste saw her brave and unmoved, her cheeks aglow, her lips half parted. In ecstasy he watched her until she tried to speak above the din. " Messieurs ! " she cried. " Messieurs ! " But the drunken soldier beat upon his copper drum and drowned her voice. Proud and erect, with eyes flashing and head thrown back, she faced him. Above the tumult her voice rang clear: " Messieurs ! A farce, a tragedy, what you will, but let the performance proceed." The reeling musketeers saw her white breast in the candle light, the glistening teeth between her lips. 8 FAME'S PATHWAY " Not 11 I've had a kiss ! " cried one of them, with thick-tongued ardour, and staggered toward the stage. Jean-Bap tiste paled at his evil smile, the leer in his bestial eyes. " Stop ! " he cried, " stop ! " Frantic with rage, he sprang toward him. Chapelle caught his arm. "You are unarmed; would you fight two swash bucklers ? " words not even heard, much less listened to. " Let me go ! " he shouted, " let me go ! " and, with young blood singing in his veins, he broke from Chapelle's grasp. " Coward ! " he cried to the muske teer, " you disgrace the king's livery. Shame ! Shame ! " With frightened eyes, Madeleine Bejart saw the soldier turn upon the frantic youth, both joy and fear trembling in her breast. When a rapier pointed at her unknown champion, her heart gave a wild throb of terror; she covered her face with her hands. A hot-headed youth ready for baiting sport for a tipsy musketeer sport for the rabble to see. A foil to prick Jean-Baptiste Poquelin until he danced a farandole of pain; another to flash from its sheath, for the courtier, seated on the stage, wigged and curled but swordsman born, sprang into the pit: then the click of sword to sword. When Madeleine Bejart had the courage to look, she saw her headstrong champion dragged away by his friend; and, in his place, a lithe, skilled fencer with rapier at guard and arm upcurled. The other musketeer rushed to help his comrade, the crowd having courage now to form a ring and stare in breathless wonder while two bravos faced a perfumed AGAINST A PAINTED SCENE 9 darling of the court. Feint, parry, thrust, a turn of a supple wrist a sword arm rapierless. Swish, clash, and ring of steel and then a panting musketeer beaten backward, step by step, while his comrade groped on hands and knees to find his weapon. Rapiers swirled, sparks flew from glinting steel; a wild-eyed bully tripped upon another in his rage to reach a dexterous fencer; a defence too puling, though, even to force a quickened breath from beneath a curled moustache. Two disarmed swashbucklers, blinded by the fumes of drink, soon lay sprawling on the floor; and, since the conqueror preferred finesse to surgery, not so much as one sword prick to either. The vanquished floundered to their feet, picked up their weapons, and slunk away amid laughter and jeers. The nobleman sheathed his sword. " Pardi, a rather stupid bout ! " he said with condescension, for the benefit of the common herd. " But where is my fiery young friend ? " Jean-Baptiste's blood had cooled somewhat. He knew he owed a sound skin, if not his life, to splendid swords manship, and, in payment of a debt, a generous heart can turn its hate to gratitude; so he ran forward blindly and, kneeling, seized the courtier's hand. " Ah, seigneur," he cried, " how can I find words to thank you? " The noble drew his white gloved hand away, shaking the frills and laces of his cuff as if he feared too much ardour might rumple them. " Young hot-head," he said with a supercilious drawl, " gratitude is but a courtier's claim to a sovereign's grace ; in other words, a hope dis guised. As I am not the king, and, judging by your dress, you are but a bourgeois, we '11 dispense with it." 10 FAME'S PATHWAY A blush crimsoned the student's face. A blow could not have hurt him more. " Beneath a modest coat, a lavish heart/' he answered, when he could find breath to speak: " the reverse at court, I see." The courtier shrugged; in his eyes a hue of steel. " Don't quarrel, fellow, until you wear a sword ; don't champion ladies until you possess their favour." Having said this he turned upon his heel. With hot cheeks and a surging heart, Jean-Baptiste watched his proud enemy sweep a feathered hat upon his curls and stride away watched until, above the heads of the crowd, he saw but one white plume. " Caste," he sighed, " inexorable caste ! Ah, but there is a way to reach the stars and then outshine a sputtering candle in a golden stick ! " His face took on a look of deter mined hardness then, and he turned away. Uncon sciously he glanced to the stage. Slender and beautiful, Madeleine Bejart stood there, a lonely shape against a painted scene. " Humiliated ! " he thought, " insulted ! My life tossed to me like a copper to a beggar, and not one look, even of pity!" Thoughts of vengeance filled his heart wild vengeance in a hundred insufficient ways; when some one touched his shoulder, and, turning, he saw a thin-faced actor in the toga and feathered helmet which served to costume Greek and Roman then, and even Gaul. " P-p-pardon, monsieur," he said, being a stutterer born, " I am J-J- Joseph Bejart, and my sister would have w-w-word with you." A quicker thrill than the actor's speech could incite made him look toward the stage. He watched the sweet curve of her face, until it must have been to his burn ing glance she turned. Their eyes met then and " You are not cast to play the tool AGAINST A PAINTED SCENE 11 stayed together while the thin-faced actor led him, tremulous, to the stage. " You would have fought for me," she said, when he stood before her. What revelation of his love was in his gaze he knew not, but the too inadequate words he tried to frame refused to pass his lips, and he could only mumble in an inarticulate way: " I would have died for you." " On with the tragedy ! " called a hoarse voice from the wings. " Come," said Chapelle at his elbow, " you are not cast to play the fool." CHAPTER II A RAY OF SUNLIGHT IN a corner littered with theatrical apparel, Madeleine Bejart stood arranging her tumbled hair. Players of both sexes shared this dingy spot; tiring room seems too sumptuous a term, a quilt stretched upon a cord sufficing to screen the over-modest. The soubrette, Marie Courtin de la Dehors, a black-eyed comfit of pink flesh, sat upon a bench swinging one shapely leg across the other while putting on a stocking; Genevieve, a sprightly younger sister of La Bejart, reached a plump arm from behind the quilt to snatch a garment from a pile of time- worn finery. With much ado of splashing, the young ster who played lovers' parts, plunged his pretty face in a cracked earthen bowl; the meanwhile, Jean-Baptiste de 1'Hermite, husband of the soubrette, Beys, a bibulous poet, and Joseph Bejart, the stutterer, squatting upon the floor, arranged the day's receipts in little piles of silver livres and copper sous. Looking askance at the meagre lots, Joseph Bejart shrugged his lean shoulders. " Only t-t-twenty-four livres and f-f-fifteen sous," he stammered, with a whistle to accelerate the faltering. Though great of name, moustache, and sword, Jean- Baptiste de 1'Hermite gentleman born but vagabond bred was scant of purse, so he gazed hungrily at the money. " Think of the Hotel de Bourgogne with a royal pen sion," he sighed, while taking a final hole in his belt. 12 A RAY OF SUNLIGHT 13 " Think of a worthy troupe with its chandler unpaid and the tennis master crying for his rent ! " exclaimed Beys ; then, to accentuate the misery of the company, he extemporised a quatrain, which he sang with a voice somewhat strained for fine singing: " While courtiers flock to hear Montfleury rant, And comrades fatten on a pension, We abler actors must turn mendicant, Or dodge the gaol by circumvention." Excepting Madeleine Bejart, the troupe laughed up roariously at this, till Marie Courtin's voice canae, sud denly shrill. " No need to fear creditors if our Madeleine had only charmed some rich bourgeois instead of a hot-headed fool an unarmed student who dashes at a tipsy musketeer ! " Something like a smile stole to Madeleine's lip while she brushed the hair that fell about her shoulders. The affront of a jealous woman she parried with a counter- thrust. " I can sympathise with the dying lion of the fable, who, when kicked by an ass, exclaimed : ' To the assaults of brave comrades I am resigned; but to be forced to suffer thy cowardly attack, thou disgrace of all nature, is verily to perish twice.' " While the soubrette bit her lip in anger, Jean-Bap- tiste de 1'Hermite, her husband, whispered softly: " Bide your time, my dear. The Baron de Modene has wearied of her, that I know, for I have been in his confidence." " Yet he sat upon the stage to-day," said Marie Courtin, pouting. 14 FAME'S PATHWAY " Ay ; to show his contempt of the dying cardinal, who has set a price on his head, not his love for her." Marie Courtin looked at her husband quizzically. " You are a complaisant lord and master/' she said. "A little cottage in the comte Venaissin, where are my lord of Modene's estates, would pleas^ me well," whispered Jean-Baptiste de 1'Hermite with a grin. " I thought by serving him in his intrigues to win this boon, but though I have aided mightily in the plots His Highness of Orleans and he have hatched, he has ever pleaded poverty as an excuse for not requiting me. Perchance your charms will loosen his purse-strings." Now the lady was not loath to enter into this base conspiracy, for, in that age of licence, she was not the least iniquitous. Moreover, she adored Monsieur de Modene with a quean's frenzy and hated Madeleine Bejart. When the laughter at her own expense had sub sided, she renewed the attack on her rival. " I have been cogitating whether or not the ass's shoe fits my foot," she said. " If Monsieur de Modene, the courtly gentleman-in-waiting to His Highness of Orleans, approves of your coquetting with a scatter brained youth whose ardour leads to a brawl he must perforce quell with his own skill at fence, then am I indeed like an ass in believing him devoted to you, my lady." " Perchance my lord seeks an easy way to freedom," suggested Jean-Baptiste de 1'Hermite slyly. Be sure Marie Courtin missed nothing of this. She was quick as a bird of prey, and saw Madeleine far too calm to suit her pleasure; so her voice shrilled again: " In which case, pardi, our Madeleine is in a fair way A RAY OF SUNLIGHT 15 to lose her good fortune, and this straitened troupe all hope of a royal pension." Madeleine was pale and serious under this baiting, but she had the good sense not to speak. Not so her sister Genevieve, who came hot and flushed from behind the quilt, buttoning some nether garment hurriedly. " Spite ! " she piped in anger, " spite ! " then, turning to the company, rattled on, " Did you see the glances Marie Courtin cast at Monsieur de Modene while he sat on the stage to-day? Of all the ogling hussies " She had scant chance to dodge the soubrette's shoe as it flew past her pretty head. It bellied the quilt and might have been the undoing of her comeliness. The nearest missile a helmet or a corselet would have answered this onslaught had not Madeleine Bej art's wave of the hand been superb in its effrontery. "If Marie Courtin's charms can win the gentleman- in-waiting," she said to her sister, " by all means let them, since it is good riddance." She looked at her rival quite fearlessly as a bold hunter might look at some wild beast that came in his way. Meanwhile her brother picked up the shoe and, kneeling at the soubrette's feet, showed his yellow teeth between his pale lips. " Your slipper, m-m-mademoiselle," he said with mock gallantry ; " may I have the honour ? " and while the company laughed, he placed it on her tiny foot. The girl glanced stealthily about from under her dark lashes. Seeing the pretty jeune premier stop prinking to laugh at her discomfiture, she bit her tongue and bided a time more favourable. Madeleine Bej art now brushed her hair undisturbed before a piece of broken looking-glass. To one who 16 FAME'S PATHWAY did not gaze with the fervour of a stage-struck youth, her lips tightened in repose, and the lines that care had drawn gave her the defiant aHj of one who had been treated harshly by the world. God had created her beautiful, she knew, but adversity had dimmed His handiwork. As she looked at herself with half closed eyes, her life passed before her, unconsciously, with its struggles, its pitfalls her life of weary pilgrimage from town to town with a band of strolling players. Dimly she recalled to mind the jolting ox-carts; the dreary miles of high road tramps; the nights gone supperless to bed; the audience of gaping yokels she had played to ; the gallants who had wooed her. " Ah, . those years," she thought, " that should have been the best of life ! Gone, gone, but what have they brought ? " and she smiled bitterly. Once she had listened to burning words whispered when the air was sweet and fleecy clouds hung motion less among the stars. She had dreamed away her happiness then, in the sunny land of the south among shadowy vines; for Esprit de Remond de Mormoiron, Baron de Modene and gentleman-in-waiting to Monsieur, the king's brother, was a name to thrill a young and foolish girl. She had believed him, only to awake and find love brutal; and so a noble with an ashen face and cruel eyes now had a seat upon the stage, a noble who could disarm musketeers and snub tempestuous youths with the same sang-froid with which he ogled a soubrette or twirled his moustache; and so, in a far off province, there was the little grave of her child the only tie that bound her to him. She had some twenty-four years behind her, and was sceptical of sentiment; yet emotion is not to be cal- A RAY OF SUNLIGHT IT: endared, nor could a youthful paladin spring from the pit unregarded: hence, as she brushed her red-gold hair, her thoughts kept returning to the adventure of the day. Yet the reverie, howsoever pleasing, was short-lived; since a face, suddenly reflected in the mirror before her, and a gloved hand laid upon her bare shoulder, caused a shudder in every fibre of her being. " You ! " she exclaimed in no uncertain tone of dis pleasure. The thin lips of the Baron de Modene his being the face parted malevolently. " Yes, I," he muttered, " in lieu of a rattle-brained hero whom no doubt you expected ! " " What a pity you are not he ! " Madeleine said, with a shrug of her white shoulders. Modene's little eyes snapped cruelly. " What a pity I did not leave him to be spitted by the musketeers ! " Her glance in the mirror was contemptuous. " Don't lavish repentance on a generous action, Remond your sins might feel slighted." At this a smile. " Generous ! Do you fancy I cared two sous about the safety of your thick-lipped friend? The beating on the pan annoyed me; hence I stopped the brawl." Madeleine turned fiercely to reply. " Yes," she said ; " and you behaved like a churl to a lad who was certainly generous in his thanks ! " "Pardi, he made us both ridiculous; but luckily I have left the service of Monsieur to follow the fortunes of the young Due de Guise, whose adventures are likely to lie beyond the confines of France." " In order to avoid me, it was unnecessary for you to change masters," she said, suddenly alert to his meaning. 18 FAME'S PATHWAY " Surely, during these years you have been away from me plotting Richelieu's downfall with your royal master, neither His Eminence nor I have worried unduly." The courtier knit his brows with chagrin. "True; even when I fled wounded from the Bois de la Marfee with a price on my head, not a word of sympathy from you, though Jean-Baptiste de 1'Hermite was a ready messenger, as you knew." " A price on your head ! " said Madeleine. " Much it matters to you, since you boldly return to Paris with the price still there." " Pardon me," said the courtier, *' it is no longer there, for His Eminence is dead." " Dead ! " exclaimed Madeleine in consternation. " Richelieu dead ! " " To-day ! I bear the authentic news." " And you take it so coolly ! " "As coolly as the death of any dog," answered Modene, with a contented shrug. A murmur of alarm ran from lip to lip, for the actors, dismayed by the news the courtier had brought, feared its effect on their theatre's receipts. Surely the great cardinal's obsequies would attract the public away from their play-house, thought they; and consternation reigned in the tiring room, but only momentarily, for soon their fears gave place to joy at a tyrant's death expressed in ribald song and quip. Modene, meantime, bowed himself away frigidly from Madeleine, and kneeling at Marie Courtin's feet, kissed her hand; whereat the soubrette's face became an ecstasy. The hasty fastening of a gown awry to hide the gleam of a white neck; the premeditated side-glances; the A RAY OF SUNLIGHT 19 sighs, half-suppressed such artifices of the coquette's trade singularly amused Madeleine, she being too thoroughly convinced of Modene's worthlessness to suffer jealousy. As she gazed at his pallid face with its sly, black eyes and thin lips, a feeling of disgust crept over her. Once her soul had thrilled to the sight of his love. To her touch, it had crumbled like a dead sea apple. But adversity will not make a wanton of a woman; and though her life was not above reproach by those who never had been tempted, six years of vaga bondage in a wanton age had made of her a woman, faithful in the sense that faith means loyalty and courage. One by one, lean actors shambled to the street; mean time, dowdy actresses, tripping on high heels, smiled and showed their glistening teeth to gallants who stood bowing with plumed hats against their breasts. The soubrette sighed as she went forth, and Modene bent his waist in politesse while her hand stole through the bow his arm had made. Madeleine followed at her brother's side, erect and contemptuous, until, among the ogling gallants at the door, she saw a thick-lipped youth. He did not crowd forward like the rest to bow and smicker, but in the glance that passed between them, she saw just a ray of sunlight through the grey mist of her life. CHAPTER III AT THE SERVICE-TREE TAVERN WHEN Madeleine had passed the youth, she turned. Seeing him standing apart from the group of gallants, she blushed prettily and spoke. " Will you not tell me your name, monsieur, so that we may be friends ? " He met the look of her clear blue eyes, seeing that sympathy and gentleness burned steadily there. " My name is Jean-Baptiste Poquelin," he said. " I am a student of the laws." " I shall never forget your solicitude for me, mon sieur your courage." " And I shall never forget you, mademoiselle," he said in a voice low and tremulous. " I live in the Marais quarter in the cul-de-sac de Thorigny," she answered graciously, and turned away. " I shall hope to see you." " If I live, mademoiselle." He caught her hand as she went and kissed it ardently, and to him the universe seemed throbbing like his heart. For a time he stood there, lost in sweet meditations, till a touch on his shoulder aroused him, and he turned with a start. He had forgotten, as lovers will forget, that there was any one in the world except Madeleine Bejart and himself. " Come," said Chapelle amiably. " Wine is the surest antidote for love." 20 AT THE SERVICE-TREE TAVERN 21 In the half light of a dying day, Jean-Baptiste watched the receding form of his idol, ere, with a sigh, he turned to do the bidding of his friend. Joseph Bejart, the stutterer, a more intent watcher than Chapelle, having read the glance that passed be tween his sister and the youth, bethought him that a bourgeois student oftentimes has money, whereas a worthy band of players had none. But to suggest a riggish plucking to high-minded Madeleine, he knew was futile, so he turned softly and followed on the steps of Chapelle and young Poquelin to the door of a cabaret known as The Service-Tree. Lights already glimmered in the tavern; the air was heavy with the breaths of the company and the lees of drink; a fire crackling upon the broad hearth tempered the December cold and filled the gloom of a day just spent with fantastic shadows of patrons girdling the tables with their lean shapes, The Service-Tree being the haunt of poets and rogues. The place brimmed with roisterers, so Bejart entered behind the students unobserved. Chapelle was for joining a group of friends Bernier, a medical student; Le Broussin, an idler; Hesnault, a rhymster; Bachaumont, a pamphleteer: all young sparks of kindred tastes but Jean-Baptiste was loath to mingle with this gay throng. With them he saw the poet Colletet, a wine-loving immortal of the new-born Academy, and knew that his presence meant a night of revelry. Chapelle, poor lad, had an overweening fond ness for the wine-cup ; those roisterers, a too great readi ness to fill it. To spare his friend temptation, and himself annoyance, Jean-Baptiste led the way to a table apart, pulling Chapelle after him. Penniless Bejart 22 FAME'S PATHWAY edged near the pair, hoping to be asked to join them, but Jean-Baptiste, having no eyes for him, sank into a chair to dream. Chapelle, votary of pleasure, paid ribald compliment to the serving-maid, meantime. The girl blushed and brought the choicest cut of a Bayonne ham and a bottle of cheer. While he filled a glass and raised it to the level of his eyes, she let him draw his arm about her waist; then, seeing she was playing after-thought to the mellow Burgundy, she pouted herself away. What cared he for a fair, shameless face, more or less, when generous wine flowed in his veins? With a glance through the clear ruby, he gave the glass a rotary motion beneath his nostrils; a few drops soon trickled down slowly over his tongue. " No wench under Heaven is worth a glass," he said above the clatter of the mugs and dice, and the rasping laughter. Jean-Baptiste raised himself upon his elbows from the table where his head had fallen. " Chained to tradition, like a galley slave," he sighed. " If I had only the courage to escape ! " Chapelle took a last swallow of the velvety wine and reached for the bottle. " Love goes to your head like drink to mine," he grunted. A smile almost disturbed Jean-Baptiste's mournful face, though he made no answer. He knew that his life had been moulded for him, a petty life in a narrow groove, and the thought of his father's shop seemed to stifle him that shop sodden through and through with middle class respectability. Amid the smell of hams and cheeses in the tavern, he seemed to sniff upholstery AT THE SERVICE-TREE TAVERN 23 and glue, then musty law books. Valet de chambre tapissier du roi ! His father held the office and he the reversion. It meant that he might make the royal bed. Yes, one day, he, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, student of the laws, might be an advocate esteemed in bourgeois Paris and tolerated in the antechamber of the king. With trembling hand he poured him a glass of Bur gundy. If only he might soothe his heart-aches in the glow of wine as easily as Chapelle, he thought. Mean while, Chapelle pulled his sleeve. " Was there ever such a face as that ? " he exclaimed, pointing to a tall form in the doorway arrayed in a faded doublet. Jean-Baptiste glanced up. Beneath a huge, un kempt peruke, he saw a pimpled nose upon a face more monkey-like than human. " Guillot-Gor j u, the co median ! " he said with a show of interest. " I 've a mind to ask him to share our cheer." Glancing at the half-empty bottle, Chapelle opened his lips in disapproval, but his protest that there was not enough cheer for another was unheeded. Jean-Bap tiste hailed the old comedian with the pump-like nose, and Joseph Bejart, from his coign beyond the glim mering lights, missed not the words; so, hastening to greet his player colleague, he shared with him the student's bidding to a supper. As Madeleine's brother he was trebly welcomed, while his fellow-player, with whom the world went ill these days, sniffed the Bayonne ham from afar and involuntarily fondled his middle. After his young companion had returned in triumph with the actors, Chapelle sat silent until a fresh bottle and a brace of glasses had been brought. His affa bility declared itself then in an amiable look over the rim of his goblet. 24s FAME'S PATHWAY " My friend Poquelin has a wild passion for the stage/' he chuckled. " Can you not fit him with a part, good sirs? The role of lover would suit him mightily." The words sounded cruelly enough to Jean-Baptiste, absorbed as he was in thoughts of Madeleine Bejart. " I do love the stage ! " he cried. " It is indeed my passion! " Then turning to Guillot-Gor ju, he smiled in pride : " My grandfather took me to your debut, sir, twelve years ago; since then I have never missed a play when I have had five sous. If I love the theatre, the art of Guillot-Gor j u, the best of French comedians, is, in a way, responsible." Smirking, the veteran actor bent at the waist until his long nose touched the table. " Sir, you overwhelm me ! " Poquelin smiled affably: "I said the best of French comedians Scaramouche can teach you all." Guillot-Gor ju crimsoned, his ugly mouth puckered. " My young friend," he piped testily, " would you fall down and worship every macaroni-eating vagabond who comes to Paris merely because he hails from beyond the Alps?" " I would worship a great artist from anywhere ! " " Humph ! You should be the orateur of the Hotel du Petit Bourbon. Scaramouche would pay you well to tout his Italian band." Joseph Bejart missed nothing of this. He had seen the purse from which young Poquelin paid the landlord for the vintage, and he thought the moment favourable to abet the scheme he had hatched. " For my p-p-part," he said with much ado of stuttering, " I think monsieur a most discerning student of the stage. In t-t-truth, he should be an actor himself." AT THE SERVICE-TREE TAVERN 25 " La-la-la/' chuckled Guillot-Gorj u. " Then there would be but one comedian in France. Think of poor Scaramouche dethroned ! " A roar of laughter came from Chapelle's throat. Tears threatened in Jean-Baptiste's eyes, but he held them back. " Laugh till your sides burst," he cried, the blood in his heart turning to fire ; " yet make sure that, if ever I become an actor, I shall not attempt to dethrone Scaramouche or you, Guillot-Gorj u. If I tread the boards, it will be to shame ranting Montfleury. Tragedy, my friends, not comedy, shall be my art, for now, as in the classic days of Greece, an actor finds a worthy calling in tragedy alone." Mirth showed in Guillot-Gorj u's face. " You will act what Heaven created you to act, my bold young friend, or you will be hissed. If I be a judge of physiognomy, you will act comedy or act not at all." " Never ! " said Jean-Baptiste firmly. " Never shall I be a mere buffoon ! " Spare Bejart twined his fingers in a pleasing grasp and showed his yellow teeth beneath a smile. " There is n-n-no reason why you should not be a fine tra-tra-tragedian," he faltered. " The stage has need of courageous men. Guillot-Gorj u is wrong. Your f-f-face was made for tragedy." Poquelin laughed, but the sound of his laughter quickly died. " I, an actor ! My father would turn me from his door ! " "My g-g-good sir," said Bejart, making a deprecat ing gesture with his lean hands, "the k-k-king has 26 FAME'S PATHWAY decreed that no reproach shall attach to the p-p-profes- sion of actor." " Until the church withdraws its ban/' the student answered him, " I fear no edict of the king can move a heart of stone such as my father's." The fumes of wine had bewildered the wits of Claude Chapelle, so he missed the argument and dozed; but Guillot-Gorju, looking at Jean-Baptiste ironically out of the corner of an eye, grinned with his thick lips. " My young friend, I am of gentle birth Bertrand Hardin de Saint Jacques is my name and once I was a stage-struck student like yourself. I ran away from home, but I have lived to rue it." Jean-Bap tiste's chin dropped upon his breast in a crestfallen way. "I should have been more respectful to one of your experience," he pleaded. " Pray pardon me." The old comedian bowed. " I have accepted your cheer, monsieur, and in requital, let me tell you my experience. You will see that the stage is not all glamour and applause." Guillot-Gor j u told his story. It was a tale of wandering in the days when actors were outcasts to whom the right of Christian burial was denied. The old comedian had been a student at Montpellier and then the pantomimist of a travelling quack, stoned by village urchins, chased from hamlet to hamlet by the authorities. Jean-Baptiste tried to picture to himself the misery of this stroller's life: the days of footsore tramping; the supperless nights with the ground for a pallet; the audiences of staring clod- polls before whom he tumbled and grimaced while his master sold his quackeries. What a life! he thought. AT THE SERVICE-TREE TAVERN 27 No wonder he can set the pit a-roar when, in faculty wig and gown, he rattles off Latin in his inimitable way. Sixteen years of wandering to learn the role of comic doctor, and I have dared to criticise ! " Ah, my dear sir," he cried, " when I presumed to give my uncouth views I little knew what you had undergone to learn your art ! " " You honoured me, monsieur, by calling me the best of French comedians," the old actor said with doleful voice and gesture. " Would that the public thought the same ! But here am I with half a century already spent, grateful for the supper you have given. I quarrelled with my comrades of the royal troupe; then tried, too late, to play the role I had so often mimicked. At Melun, in the last three years, I sought to begin my life anew and practice medicine. I am to-day a doctor without patients, a comedian without a part. Would that I were a student at Montpellier once more, with life before me ! Nay, my young man, dream no longer of the stage." As Guillot-Gorju spoke, the door was flung open and a wild rout burst into the room: poets of pleasure, students a hubbub of shouting, singing, and tramping feet to drown the rattle of the dice cups; to every man a girl recruited from the depths of night, and in the lead that demon of bravery, Cyrano de Bergerac. At sight of his red, scarred nose, the rogues at the tables snatched up their stakes and paled; while over the tumult rose his Gascon voice, over the click of mug and deep-throated laughter : " Since folly and pleasure are sold by the glass, He who drinks water is surely an ass." 28 FAME'S PATHWAY Mad Cyrano of ugly mien, who once had fought a hundred men! Jean-Baptiste loved his poet's soul, but not the pack which yelped and frolicked in his train; not so Chapelle, on orgy bent, who awoke from his stupor to hail the crew as comrades. Jean-Baptiste did his utmost to lead him hence, but Bachaumont raised his flagon and Bernier called to him; so Chapelle broke from his friend's grasp to join the rout and celebrate the death of hated Richelieu. The shrill clatter and the oaths awoke to delight the tavern keeper, who rubbed his hands gleefully. Deep drinkers and free spenders all; but it was not the kind of company a sober man should desire, so Jean-Bap tiste bid hasty adieux to his actor friends. Joseph Bejart, watching his retreating figure, left Guillot- Gorju to devour the remnants of the ham. Opening the door noiselessly, he stepped out into the night. Rapid footing brought him to the young man's side. " M-m-monsieur," he said, " you played a manly part to-day and won the regard of a lady d-d-difficult to please." His young heart a-flutter, Jean-Baptiste looked up at him, and down quickly; but before he could answer, the actor had glided into the darkness, soundlessly as he came. Wondering at the man's strange ways, he went alone through the streets until he stopped upon a bridge. The towers of Notre Dame stood out against the night ; her flying buttresses arose above the huddled houses of the city. Torches flamed and coaches rumbled, and while the cries of link-boys shrilled, the river flowed unceasingly beneath him ; but he saw not Paris nor heard her sounds. He was thinking of a little stage athwart rude trestles; thinking of Guillot-Gor j u's story and the AT THE SERVICE-TREE TAVERN 29 warning it had given. He longed to break down the walls that held him and soar untrammelled into the night; and in that moment, he seemed to see her in the candle light her eyes like star-shine. Then a strange exultation overcame him, and he seemed to be taken out of himself and borne afar off; but while he dreamed, a feeling of shame swept through him, for he heard a faint whispering: "Would you be an unshriven outcast a vagabond ? " CHAPTER IV A SALON OF VAGABONDIA IF creditors were to be paid, Madeleine's theatre must be filled; yet, in an age when plays were acted only three days in the week, and the admission was but five sous, her suburban play-house, with students and artisans for patrons, proved an ill-starred venture. Being a girl of wit and beauty, she had met in the provinces many gallants whom politics or fancy had exiled from the capital; but to ask a favour of one of these would be to put a price upon her charms. Though the age was dissolute, though the tennis master clamoured for his rent and the chandler for the price of the dips he had furnished, her heart rebelled at such a thought. Too high-spirited to admit defeat, too proud to bend before the Baron de Modene, she courted such wits and beaux as she chanced to know, trusting that, once her fame had reached the royal circle, the fortunes of her straitened company might mend. She still owned a house, however, bought in days of greater prosperity, a modest dwelling crowded among the pointed roots and protruding walls of the Marais quarter; and there, on the days when her theatre was closed, she gathered her actresses about her and played fine lady of the player world. Jean Rotrou, sole rival of the great Corneille, had been her neighbour once; and she, a girl of eighteen then, had worshipped at his shrine, inditing verses, even, 30 A SALON OF VAGABONDIA '31 in his honour, which he had proudly printed before the tragedy they praised. Since then, he had become a magistrate at Dreux, his native town, so she saw him no more. But the prestige of his friendship had won for her a position in stage-land so enviable that her modest salon became a gathering place for poets and wits to whom the doors of the Hotel de Rambouillet remained unopened. Though scant of purse and yet unknown to fame, her familiars vied in brilliancy and repartee with the dis tinguished circle of the Blue Room in the rue Saint Thomas du Louvre, where a noble hostess made both wit and virtue fashionable. But the emulation of Mad eleine's set was only in the way of cleverness. It was a company of intellect and indigence in an age when wits were sharpened by adversity and poets lived on patrons' crumbs; it was not a coterie of virtue. Her humble parquetry was merely pine, her chairs were straight-backed, incommodious things with leathern bottoms, and her candelabra, pewter; yet even this sim plicity more than taxed her straitened means, especially since the larder must be kept filled against the coming of her guests. One evening when the candles flamed amid the clus tered goblets on the sideboard, Madeleine stood alone by a window, more pensive than was her custom. The night was clear and starlit; before her rose the roofs of Paris with their quaint tourelles : and as she awaited the arrival of her intimates, she fell to thinking of a certain student of the laws of the glance that had passed between them when he stood among the gallants at the theatre door. A week had passed since he sprang to her defence, and gazing at sleeping Paris, she thought 32 FAME'S PATHWAY his reticence most singular, for if ever she had seen a look of adoration, it had been in his eyes that day. But thinking thus upon the strange adventure, a door behind her opened and the scabbard of a rapier grazed against the wall. Turning, she saw the Baron de Modene, with scented curls and foppish ribbons, sweep ing his plumed hat to his breast. " Mademoiselle, I am your servitor," he said. " I thought not to see you again," she answered, and looked away. He came and stood beside her, but when his arm stole round her waist, she loosened it gently. " You were not always obdurate," he said. " There was a time in the far off comte Venaissin when you gave me your heart." Madeleine looked at him strangely, her own voice sounding distant to her, like a voice from the past. " I do not ask it back," she said ; " I only ask the privilege to forget." "Because you are jealous," he laughed; "jealous of Marie Courtin. Morbleu, must a man always be at one woman's feet? " She stood watching him, neither defiant nor fearful, but with a long, unmoving gaze. " Remond," she said, " I give you freedom will ingly, but in return I ask my own." " Mon dieu, but my lady is testy ! Can I not smile at a pretty face ? " and he shook the laces in his cuffs. She was thinking of a distant province, and the vows he had whispered there ; thinking, too, of a church yard and a tiny, unmarked grave. Yes, she had believed him then, because she was a girl blinded by her faith in him, and he a cavalier accomplished in the ways of gallantry a married man as well, though she had A SALON OF VAGABONDIA 33 known it not. Looking now in his cruel eyes, she won dered not that love was changeable, but that her heart had ever thrilled to the words he had whispered upon a night like this of a heaven filled with stars. " Love dies with confidence," she said at last, " and as I can no longer trust you, love is a pretence." A smile wrinkled Modene's face. " Ah, a new pro tector, as I can readily divine. Mademoiselle, I con gratulate you." In the dim light, he did not see the angry flush nor the trembling of her lip. " Only my knowledge of the world," she answered, " and of you." " Knowledge is a poor defence against a bailiff with a batch of bills." " How insolent ! " she cried. " You have made me an object of contempt, I grant, but not of charity." He caught her angry gaze fixed upon him; she was pale except at the lips, but her blue eyes shone. Trembling from head to foot, she left him, taking two or three swift turns across the floor. " Oh, if the world were not all ordered wrong ! " she paid at last; "if the woman was not always to be sacrificed ! " Modene turned with voice and gesture of apology. " I was over-cruel, Madeleine; forgive me." " You did right to insult me," she went on, unheed ing. " An actress in this land of France is merely an outcast, and the love men offer me is such as yours." " Don't inveigh against the world, or me," he sneered, " but rather blame your own perverseness. You might have been a housewife had you wished." As his words died away, memories of the past came 34 FAME'S PATHWAY crowding up and beating cruelly upon her brain: memories of her childhood and the long, hard years when she had fought adversity. The wild desire of youth to roam a free-winged creature where she willed seemed dead, and success only a will-o'-the-wisp in the marshes of life. She wondered if she had the courage to fight on; but glancing timidly about her, she met the hard glitter of Modene's glance, and a strange activity arose within her, the feverish unquiet of the soul we call ambition. Better far, she thought, to be an unknown outcast than a dull, innocuous creature for his sneers. Closing her eyes, she stood for a moment praying for the strength to conquer. " Remond," she said at last, " I ask nought but the chance to live my life in my own manner." He had premeditated a rupture, but his self-love was injured by her ready acceptance of his design; and in all the five years he had known her, the simple truth had never come to him before, that she was a woman to be adored. Yet rather than admit it, the words ran coldly from him. " Pardi, since you have made your own bed lie in it." Turning, she came toward him with a hand out stretched and said, " I will, even though it be a pallet." " You ride a high horse for a fall," he sneered. Courageously she met his look of defiance. " You misunderstand," she answered in a low and measured voice. " I have already fallen, and I am trying to pick myself up, however stunned and bruised. I shall try, also, to win my little triumph in the only arena open to women like myself; but if ever I cry out for help, it will not be to you." A SALON OF VAGABONDIA 35 Modene recoiled and his eyes narrowed with vexation. " I could be a bitter enemy," he answered ; " but it is not worth my while." Madeleine looked at him with scornful admiration. Meantime, footsteps creaked upon the stairs, and laugh ter welled. " Shall it be war or peace? " she asked. He smoothed a rumpled bow of ribbons on his sleeve and a smile flickered over his dark face. " Peace," he answered, " since it leaves us free to war as we please." The company which entered was not the company she would have chosen, but companionship, like love, is more often a matter of propinquity than choice; withal it was a company to whisk blue devils to the four winds, so it served a purpose. Catherine Desurlis and Madelon Malingre, two of the prettiest and frailest girls in Paris, and D'Assoucy, a vagabond rhymster twanging his lute, followed apace by Marie Courtin de la Dehors, arm in arm with young Franois Bachaumont, the pamphleteer a laughing, pirouetting troop of revellers whose mirth and rustling skirts drove care from her heart. She turned to greet them and her face was smiling. " Welcome, my friends," she said, while the girls and gallants kissed her on the cheek; then D'Assoucy knelt before her and lifted his clear voice, and as his fingers tinkled the strings of his lute, he sang: " That others' love may be implored, That others' charms may be adored, Is easy to declare; Yet beauty, beauteous as thine, Thou marvel, marvellous, divine, Can never be, I swear." A murmur of applause came to the lips of the ac- 86 FAME'S PATHWAY tresses; but while the last notes of the song drifted among the rafters, young Bachaumont, ever ready of wit and satire, added a savour of gall to the singer's triumph. " The voice is his, fair Madeleine, but the sentiment is stolen from my heart, and the verses from the garland of Malherbe." D'Assoucy's well-featured face grew dark. Hurriedly he turned the taunt with a laugh : " Can Bachaumont maintain his heart is robbed when Malherbe's verses and my own poor voice express the adoration of us all ? " " The young man speaks truly," sneered Marie Cour- tin, her face paling for the moment. " Though others may be wooed and others adored, no beauty can compare with that of La Bejart." Modene, who had failed to greet this lady, missed not her irony, but knew the value of disdain when ado ration has overshot a woman's heart. " Marvel of mar vels, I salute you," he said to his hostess, with a sweep of his feathered hat. " Fortunate Malherbe, to have foreseen your charms full thirty years ago ! " Fat Beys, votary of Bacchus and Apollo, entered as he spoke. " Ay, fortunate Malherbe ! " came in a sigh from his lips ; " to win the regard of king and cardinal and flour ish on a pension should be a poet's paradise alas, I envy Malherbe's lot, even though he be dead." Madeleine, flushed and smiling, stood amid her friends; beyond her were lights and shadowy draperies. " Envy not the dead," she cried, " but live for the joy of living ! " While her words rang through the room, Beys saw upon the sideboard, beside the beef tongues and pate of A SALON OF VAGABONDIA 37 hare, a flagon of rich, red wine, and readily forgot Apollo and his rites. He sidled toward the cheer, and Modene, the rake, to Marie Courtin's side; and as the merriment increased, the company grew apace. Three actresses with tresses tied with ribbons came lifting their petticoats to show their scarlet, apple green, or sky blue hose; an indigent cavalier, as well friend of Modene with clicking spurs, and small-clothes hanging straight below his knees. Following upon his steps came dis reputable Jean-Baptiste de I'Hermite, accompanied by his more commendable brother, Franois Tristan de I'Hermite, fierce of moustache, but kind of heart a poet, too, whose plays had been enacted by the royal troupe, whose protector was Monsieur, the brother of the king. Soon the room was filled with scented skirts and ruffled hauts de chausses; then came Marotte Beaupre of the Theatre du Marais, a shapely beauty with defiant eyes, and hobbling by her side, little Vincent Voiture of gouty mien and pygmy frame, his justaucorps adorned with ribbons. Poet of the world of fashion, Voiture's advent sent a thrill to every feminine heart Voiture, f ramer of grace ful fleurettes, and idol of the Hotel de Rambouillet! The hostess had met him at Lyons, when he journeyed thither with the king and she was the favourite player of a strolling troupe; but she owed the honour of his coming to the pretty actresses to be wooed, for little Voiture was a gallant whose affections were catholic. " The most distinguished exquisite and the greatest wit in France in the rue de Thorigny ! " said Madeleine, courtesying low. " You honour me, monsieur, beyond my fairest dreams." While the painted lips of La Beaupre curled in 38 FAME'S PATHWAY triumph at the favour he had shown by attending on her steps, the old beau bent his stiffened waist and pressed his jewelled fingers to his breast. " Ma f oi ! the part of gallantry is to pay court to beauty, and that of wit to sing its praises; yet, were I thrice what you have said, I never could do justice to your charms, mademoiselle." A look of pleasure glowed in Madeleine's cheek and she flung her head back bewitchingly. " Monsieur, you overwhelm me, and yet such a brilliant compliment but proves the truth of my assertion." " Indeed, the prince of exquisites and the king of wits ! " said La Beaupre, not to be outdone. Madeleine's smiling grew graver. " A prince, I grant ; and yet, my dear, how fast your fancy gallops, since I must beg at least a roundelay before I hail him king." The ladies crowded closer; and amid soft glances and sighs, the poet tried with mock modesty to restrain the cry, " A roundelay ! " Still, seeing the company eagerly awaiting his response, he struck a pensive attitude, and with a well-acted by-play of embarrassment, adapted some verses of his to the occasion, so deftly that they appeared extemporised to these actresses, who did not know they had already paid homage to a lady of the court: "Ma foi! I 'm done, since pretty Madeleine A roundelay to conjure from my brain Has begged me, and pardi, I suffer sadly. Eight rhymes in 'ain' and likewise five in 'adly ! ' To build a barque for her were less a strain " However, there are five without much pain, So let us make it eight, and then attain By strategy the ones we need so badly Ma foi, I 'm done ! " A SALON OF VAGABONDIA 39 He paused and glanced appealingly at his fair audi tors. They sighed again and looked at him tenderly from behind their fans, so he smiled in pride and went on: "If now I might invent a pretty chain Of five, the sailing would be fairly plain; So rhyme eleven do I welcome gladly. The twelfth then follows on the others, madly, The thirteenth rhyme is easy to obtain Ma f oi, I 'm done ! " The actresses clapped their hands, a burst of enthu siasm came from the throats of humbler poets, and Voi- ture glowed with the applause, though he affected an air of indifference. " Long live the king ! " cried Madeleine. " A trifle, a mere trifle," the poet lisped. " Mon dieu," said Catherine Desurlis, " a trifle car ried to the utmost pitch of gallantry. Thrice fortunate Madeleine, to be the inspiration ! " The great man was, in a way, chagrined at having graced a company so far beneath his quality. He loved adoration, but he feared the scorn of the haughty ladies of Madame de Rambouillet's blue room should it reach their ears that he had been rhyming roundelays in a humble salon of Vagabondia. " He is but a vintner's son," thought Madeleine, gaz ing at the poet's seamed face, " and yet he rules the world of art and letters. A word from him at court in praise of me, and my fortune were made." But even as these reflections came into her mind, and the poet whose heart had run the gamut of love and gallantry basked in a circle of languishing beauty, the door opened softly and Joseph, the stutterer, glided into the room with 40 FAME'S PATHWAY his hands twitching together and his lip wrinkled in a contented smile. Beside him walked a young student, and Madeleine's heart leaped and her glance brightened at the sight of him. When he had come nearer, he pressed her hand to his lips. " Welcome, monsieur," she said, looking straightway into his godlike eyes. " But you were over long in com ing," she added in an even whisper ; " in truth, I should be vexed." A faint shade of colour burned in the student's cheek. " Mademoiselle," he faltered, " had I been wise, I should never have come." The girl's eyes widened with surprise. " You have scant courtesy," she said, yet understood. CHAPTER V AN HOUR OF PARADISE IN the flare of the candles Jean-Baptiste Poquelin saw beautiful women; he heard soft laughter and sighs, and perfume was wafted to him by the waving fans; but his only thoughts were of Madeleine Bejart beside him. Her white hands were clasped together, and under a golden flood of hair he saw her face, pensive and fair; after a time she looked up curiously and spoke in a low, thrilled voice: " You have, in sooth, scant courtesy ; and yet your action of the other day would indicate a chivalrous heart." " Do not think, mademoiselle, I am ungracious ; but is it wise for a mortal to venture into the presence of a goddess ? " " Such gallantry would do credit to Monsieur Voi- ture," she vouchsafed, and her glance travelled toward the poet of the ruelles. For a moment she stood looking at this young man who had interested her so strangely. A curious face, she thought, with its shaggy, dark eye brows, its big nose and mouth a face to provoke laugh ter, were it not for the fire-like glance. " Monsieur," she said suddenly, " you have too serious an air to be a gallant. Did you speak truthfully when you said it were wise if you had not come ? " She was very close and her eyes burned through him. " I did, mademoiselle," he answered in a deep breath. Trembling at his daring, he turned and walked slowly 41 42 FAME'S PATHWAY across the scented room, and she, not caring to restrain him, drew out a chair and sank back upon it. Although the love of men had been a parcel of her daily life, never before had she seen such fervour in a glance. Standing in a shadow of a doorway, her brother Joseph had overheard the words passed between his sister and the student. Stepping stealthily to her side, he whispered : '" The 1-1-lad has a passion for the stage. His f-f-father is an upholsterer to the king and well-to- do. If you are clever, m-m-my dear, he might join our r-r-ranks." White and trembling, Madeleine glanced up at him. " I am not a wanton," she said, a look of anger in her clear blue eyes; then a quick impulse seized her, and leaving her seat, she followed on the young man's steps. " Monsieur/' she called, " I wish to ask a favour." He turned suddenly upon the beautiful supplicant. " A favour ? " he repeated in wonderment. She bent her head to him, and the silence that fol lowed was broken by her sweet voice: " You are right, monsieur; you should not have come, and I ask as a favour that you will go." From his lips there arose a cry of pain. " I came at your bidding, mademoiselle," he said, when he could speak. Looking into his face, she questioned him: " And will you not go at my entreaty ? " " I will go at your command," he faltered, while his eyes turned in worship to her beauty. " If it were wise not to come," she answered, " surely it is wise to go." " You mean it is kind to ask me to go." She answered his thoughts rather than his words. AN HOUR OF PARADISE 43 " Monsieur, my brother has told me that your father is a well-to-do bourgeois of Paris an upholsterer to the king." She paused and he bowed assent. " He tells me also that you have a passion for the theatre and he wished me to urge you to join our hum ble troupe." " Ah, if you would only let me, mademoiselle," he pleaded, his heart full of joy at the thought of pleasing her. The girl looked at him thoughtfully, then shook her fair head. " Nay, monsieur, you owe a duty to yourself ; for when you came to-night, you felt that you were doing wrong. Believe me, it is not alone the first step that costs, but every step. I am older than you, and I know the world better, and looking deep into your heart just now, I understood. I have been very frank, my friend." As the light of the candles filled her soft eyes and glistened on her pleading lips, a deep tide of despair swept through him. " Ah, let me remain," he begged. " One hour is all I ask." He had come into her life at a moment when its burden seemed unbearable, when her heart cried out for sympathy, and something in his voice had touched her more than any words she had ever heard uttered. Look ing into the infinite future, it seemed that in some way his destiny was linked with hers, and when she spoke, a look of tenderness lurked in her glance. " I have not the heart to refuse, monsieur. I pray you may never reproach me," and the delicate fire which fluttered in her heart stole up to burn unrebuked in her face. 44 FAME'S PATHWAY " Reproach you ! " he cried, " for giving me an hour of paradise ? " The guests had paused to stare at the strange young man who stood before the hostess, eager and flushed, as though waiting to see which way the wheel of his for tune might spin; and when he caught her hand and kissed it ardently, a titter ran round the room from the lips of the actresses. " Fair Madeleine is in love," trilled La Beaupre. " It is the youth who created such a fracas at the theatre," said Genevieve Bejart. " A strange choice, diantre ! " shrugged Marie Cour- tin, her dark eyes flashing merriment. " The fellow will never be hanged for his beauty." Modene stood playing with the drooping plumes upon his broad-leafed hat. He saw the light that flamed in Madeleine's eyes, and the thought came to him that the role of magnanimity would be a wise part. " My dear lady," he said, when the laughter which followed on Marie Courtin's words had hushed, " love dwells in the heart, not the face." "Ah, but the eyes give love expression," the sou- brette sighed, with a languishing glance into his own. " Sacrebleu ! " he answered, " if it is a question of eyes, the youth is well favoured. As for his heart, I answer for it." Marie Courtin laughed again, until her merriment found words: " You called him a rattle-brain once. If you are so changeable as to men, what may a woman expect ? " Bending his curled head, the courtier smiled on her benignly. " The same treatment, mademoiselle, for AN HOUR OF PARADISE 45 have I not laid my heart at your feet when once it was at Madeleine's? If you do not wish it, pray give it back." The girl pouted her pretty lips. " I shall keep the bauble till I tire of it, and mayhap I '11 steal the youth's heart as well." " Ladies, was there ever such greed ? " said Modene, with a sweep of his broad hat towards the galaxy of eyes about him. " Mademoiselle de la Dehors is not content at having made me her slave but must begrudge poor Madeleine her impetuous friend. A veritable dog in the manger, say I ! " And turning on his heel, he strode away, leaving a look of anxiety in the soubrette's face. Her scurrilous husband, who had been stealthily watching the interview, whispered encouragingly, " Fear not, my dear ; he loves you ! " Angrily she turned on her lord: " Thanks to thy footless intrigues I was imprisoned with thee at Vin- cennes as thy accomplice. This present affair is mine own. I need no accomplices and I promise a more profitable outcome." Dreading his consort's tongue and respecting her ability, Jean-Baptiste de 1'Hermite was restrained to silence. The meanwhile, Modene, the object of this abominable conspiracy, walked tranquilly away. Too proud to admit defeat at Madeleine's hands, he had preferred to give a public triumph to Marie Courtin; and now to carry on the part he had conceived to be that of cleverness, he went straightway to the young man, standing with Madeleine at the buffet, and extended his hand graciously. " Monsieur," he said without malice, " some words 46 FAME'S PATHWAY passed between us the other day -which were over-hasty on my part. Let me make amends by touching glasses with you in a toast to our hostess." Jean-Baptiste would have touched glasses with the devil, so entranced was he. " To the fairest lady in France ! " he cried. There were fancies enough in his brain for a garland of verses, yet these trite words were all his tongue could utter; shamed by his own incompetency, he stood with downcast eyes while Modene answered him: " A toast for all Frenchmen, since the fairest lady must be each man's mistress." Turning to Madeleine with scorn in his glance, he added, " I leave it to mademoiselle to divine whether or not we both drink to her." She looked at him quite fearlessly. " He loves most," she replied, "who talks least, as the Spanish proverb says." Modene thrust his face close to the young student's and laughed. " Mademoiselle would have love dumb ; I know it to be blind; no doubt in the case of one so young as you, it has lost all five senses." Dislike of Modene rankled within Jean-Baptiste's breast and a sense of shame at his own stupidity as well. Voiture, too, came tripping toward him, fal lowed by a troop of adulatory ladies with rustling gowns and fluttering fans. The foppish poet and his arrogance, together with Modene's ill-veiled contempt, aroused a spirit of bravado within his heart. Inspired by Madeleine's sweet glance, he struck an affected attitude and began to recite, while satirising the affected manner of the day, these verses he had penned at school: AN HOUR OF PARADISE 47 Love knows no laws, and listens to no voice; Each lover ardently extols his choice, Sees nothing blamable through passion's glance E'en imperfections will his love enhance; Defects assume sweet names on his fond lip, And are acclaimed to be God's workmanship! Too pale is she? Not so! she 's jasmine-white; And goodly brown the damsel dark as night. The lean is pliant, lithe, and debonair; The portly dame treads with majestic air. Though neatness is perforce a maiden's duty, The slattern is appraised a careless beauty. A goddess in each giantess inheres; Epitome of joy the dwarf appears. The haughty one a diadem should crown; The shrew is droll; the fool with ne'er a frown. The chatterbox is kindly hearted e'er, And modestly reserved the speechless fair. Each fault the maid beloved may afford, Each frailty new charms to be adored! Madeleine was mightily pleased, above all by the lad's declaiming so in the spirit of subtle comedy that Voiture failed to see himself and his affected coterie satirised. When the rhymer had finished, the old beau, who had curled a lean hand behind his ear in order that he might better hear the lines, nodded his head and muttered beneath his breath, " Not bad ! " A faint burst of applause came, too, from the lips of the actresses and humbler poets who had crowded round. The young man, finding himself the centre of attraction, grew ashamed of his youthful presumption, and to hide his embarrassment, turned to the buffet. While he drained a goblet of wine, the old poet sidled toward him. " You recite fairly well, my young sir. I rather 48 FAME'S PATHWAY fancy the verses too, yet I confess I cannot recall the author." Jean-Baptiste looked up at Voiture swiftly. " I wrote them myself, monsieur, but they were in spired by Lucretius." " Oh/' grunted the beau, his face a study in surprise ; then he muttered, " not bad doggerel for a novice." But Madeleine, who stood listening, flashed scorn. " Not bad doggerel indeed, since it rings like the verse of Corneille in lighter vein ! Ah, but I forgot that you academicians once condemned ' The Cid ' ! " Jean-Baptiste's heart leaped wildly then, for he saw the poet of fashion abashed and astonishment in the faces of the listeners, but before he could find words to thank her, Madeleine had begun to regret her temerity. " Monsieur Voiture, of course, alone can judge of verse," she said hurriedly in a conciliatory tone. The poet clasped his hand across his breast and bowed. " Time alone can judge of verse, mademoi selle." But Madeleine's outburst had nettled him, so he turned abruptly to the feminine court that followed in his train and continued, loud enough to command the attention of the room, a recital he had been giving of an excursion once taken with some ladies of the court: " As I was saying, my fair auditors, before this interruption to my story, we passed through superb gardens where the paths were strewn with roses and orange blossoms, and at the end of an entrancing alley, we came upon a fountain which jetted more sprays than all the streams of Tivoli. The strains of violins mingled with the falling waters, and in the niche of a AN HOUR OF PARADISE 49 marble palisade, we discovered a young Diana, more beautiful than the forests of Greece and Thessaly had ever beheld. With an indescribable grace she darted among us, as we approached, and inaugurated a dance at the base of the fountain, in which the ladies and cavaliers joined." The old coxcomb seemed tired after so much breath, and with a languid air, he paused to wave his berib- boned cane above the fluttering fans. " When the dancers wearied," he went on, " I seized a harp and sang a Spanish love song and my voice was so melodious and sorrowful that the eyes of every person there were filled with tears." So pleased with the exuberance of his words that he forgot his auditors were but social castaways, the great Voiture drew breath once more and awaited their Ian- guishments. Although his frail listeners might not be able to sit enthroned on silken couches while their ruelles swarmed with gallants of the court, they might, at least, envy the high priestesses of fashion and far surpass them in flourishes and bows and precious verbi age. Indeed, the precieuse seemed the only role to be enacted in the presence of the little arbiter of culture. " My heart will ever float in a sea of memories of the charms of such entrancing phraseology," carolled La Beaupre, with a courtesy to the floor. " Never have my ears inclined to so supreme a painter of expression," sighed Madelon Malingre. " In truth, such diction dampens the orbs of my vision," languished Catherine Desurlis, not to be out done; and the three actresses wavered their fans and rolled their eyes heavenward in unison. Vincent Voiture, who had but to show himself in a 50 FAME'S PATHWAY great lady's house to assure her reputation, ogling unimportant actresses! thought Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, who stood marvelling at this precious exhibition. A roue's passion for the sex might explain this condescen sion; but that a man of talent should flit about Paris with a beribboned stick to entertain cajoling women seemed indeed ignoble. " Whether the petticoat adulation obtains in the rue St. Thomas du Louvre, or here without the pale, matters not," he mused ; " for is it not the duty of a man of letters to maintain a godlike independence of the world? Yet in Paris," he sighed, " poets are little better than domestics. A man may have one in his house for the pleasure the intrinsic value gives his pride; a lady may use one to heighten her repose in hours of leisure just as if he were a piece of furniture. Clement Marot, Ronsard, and Malherbe, each had been proud to be a fitting in some palace of the great. This foppish Voiture, too, with his ribbons and his curls, this vint ner's son, whose cleverness has made him arbiter of letters, another piece of furniture, a footstool ! " Marvelling thus upon this base employment for a man of talent, his thoughts recurred to Guillot-Gor j u's story of an actor's life. Outcasts they might be, those strolling players, outcasts denied the right of Christian burial; but they were at liberty to roam through France, the free-born children of their art and fancy. With a hand tightly clasped on his breast, his glance roved in defiance of beribboned Voiture and the fawning women, of the lean and cringing poetasters, too; for, young though he was, he looked upon these creatures with contempt. CHAPTER VI A BEING DIFFERENT FROM THE REST HE stood among the ribbons and the fans, a being different from the rest, it seemed to Madeleine Bejart, watching him intently; and while her glance roamed about the lighted room, with its odour of frangipane arrd its painted women, she fell to thinking of the verses he had spoken. They were more graceful than Voiture's roundelay, she thought, and judged by the canons of her own poor art, his manner of declaiming them was clever comedy. He had talent, she perceived, but his life had been cast in a dull mould where he could only rust. Had it been wise, she asked herself, or even just, to try to turn him from his bent when she might shape his destiny and brighten it ? Seeing the look of an inward struggle in his eyes, she knew she had never beheld a face at once so sensitive and so purposeful. " He has the courage of a man," she thought, " the tenderness of a woman; and if I mistake not, the soul of an artist lies within his breast. Ah, then it were a crime to curb his ardour for the stage, his love for me." Thinking thus, she crept beside him, and as he did not notice her, she moved a little nearer and spoke in a gentle voice. "Will you not come with me, monsieur? I wish to talk with you." She was very close; she waited. He looked into her face but did not speak. 61 52 FAME'S PATHWAY " Are you afraid ? " she asked. " I am afraid my hour is ended," he answered in a hoarse whisper, " my hour of paradise." " Then let this other hour be mine." She seized a mantle, and smiling divinely, she led him away, and he followed, not knowing where, not daring to ask. He heard the faint creaking of a door, and from the lights he passed into the night and stood beside her in a garden. Fleecy clouds hung motionless in the December sky, the winds were still, and in the shadowy night he saw leafless branches; the moon was low but its pale fire came flowing through a rent in the house tops to kindle her lifted face and her golden hair. " I have been thinking of you," she said. " There is something I wish to ask." He saw her lustrous eyes, her parted lips. " If you ask for the stars, mademoiselle, I should rob the firma ment for you." " Leave gallantry to the foppish poets," she answered with impatience. " What I fain would know is where you learned to write verses, and to speak them so well." For a moment he was silent and stood looking into the night. " There is a dear old philosopher," he said at last, " with whom I studied : Pierre Gassendi, a champion of Epicurus. He taught me to love beautiful thoughts, and often, as we strolled together when the lessons of the day were ended, he recited Latin verses. In that way, I learned to love Lucretius; and loving him, I wrote the poor and halting lines you heard me speak." When she spoke there was sympathy in her voice. "I think I understand you better; yet tell me further of yourself." DIFFERENT FROM THE REST 53 " In truth, there is little to tell. I am nearly twenty-one years of age, and my father is a bourgeois with the prejudices of his class. He wished to appren tice me to his trade, but I rebelled; in consequence, I am a student of the laws. Alas! I fear the smell of musty books is quite as stifling to my nostrils as the odour of upholstery and glue." There was something like pity in the girl's eyes, but a smile lingered on her lips. " My father is a bourgeois of Paris too," she said, " and I should have been a housewife, yet I could not live without ideals, without ambition, hence I joined a band of strolling players." " You acted wisely ! " he exclaimed. " Ah, never could you have been happy in that narrow life ! " " Nay, I am not sure. Oftentimes it seems to me that only dull clowns are ever happy." He drew a little nearer. His eyes were eager and there was eagerness in the tones of his voice. " You say what you think will make me content," he whispered. " Pray let me believe I am immortal to-night." " And let to-morrow tell of to-morrow's story ? " He caught fire from her words. " If I were to die to-morrow," he cried, " I should tell you to-night " " Hush," she said, smiling, with a finger on her lips ; " this is my hour, remember, not yours." He turned away, a secret trembling possessing him, which she felt rather than saw while she eyed him in silence for a second time. " Pray tell me, are you an only son ? " she asked after a moment. 54s FAME'S PATHWAY " I have one brother living, a sister, and a half-sister," he said, " but they all favour my father. My mother, whom I dearly loved, is dead, and likewise my step mother. Alas! there is no one in my family to sym pathise with my ambitions ! " " We are all ne'er-do-weels," she answered, " my brother Joseph, my sister Genevieve, and I. We have a brother Louis, too, a lad of twelve, who swears he will be an actor, and a baby sister a few weeks old Heaven alone knows what she will be. My father is a respect able court crier of the grand mastership of the streams and forests of the king. Poor father ! he is very ill and very poor. What a trial we must be to him! Alas! even my mother vexes him at times." " Mademoiselle ! " he cried in protest, " you are only making sport of me. This commonplace talk is to make me realise my youth. Ah, what matters it whether you have brothers and sisters or I am an only son or not? I am eating my heart out and the taste is very bitter." She was a girl of nearly five-and-twenty to this young man's barely one-and-twenty, and she saw that she held his destiny in the hollow of her hand. He had let his heart be stolen, he could reason only through her, and was it kind to make him a vagabond? God had made her soul a fair place but fate had dragged her into unworthy arms; knowing this, she could not bring him to her level. Ever since their strange meeting at the theatre she had been building bright castles in Spain, but now she was to tumble them down; now she was to hurt him. What was to become of her, the chatelaine of all these goodly keeps, when he, the lord of the manor, was banished? Generous girl, she never thought DIFFERENT FROM THE REST 55 of that! She thought only of the similarity of their early lives this young man's and her own. She had had the courage to break from the prejudice which had held them both in bondage, but her reward had been a bitterness far greater than that his heart cried out against. Nay, he must go to the upholsterer, his father, and she must speed him. She laughed, and the music of her laughter seemed to awake faint echoes among the leafless branches. "Merciful heavens!" she cried, "how very young you are ! " Her raillery jarred and caused his eyes to flash anger. " Yes," he answered her bitterly, " the young may love, and repent when their beards are grey." She thought of what ambition in him must be quelled, what hope of her own. " Ah, cannot you see, monsieur, that I wish you to go? I am in a generous mood this night." For some time their eyes were fixed each on the other, Madeleine's misty, his intensely searching. Deep in his heart was an ideal woman far different from this strolling actress as he knew her then, and duty arose, a demon, to taunt him. He loved her, yet feared she was but the symbol of his love, since he loved not her alone but all that is beautiful. In the dim light he saw her fair profile, the shining hair that curled about her neck; trembling with fear and ecstasy, he knelt be fore her and caught her hand. " Dear lady, help my tormented heart," he cried, " for I cannot. Ah, ever since I first beheld you I have thought only of you." " Remember I am like other women of my calling," 56 FAME'S PATHWAY she said at last, for she could find only compassion in her heart. " Let me share your life," he begged ; " I shall be content as the humblest member of your company." " Nay, my dear friend," she answered, though the words came bitterly from her. " You think you are doing me a kindness," he pleaded, " yet you are condemning me to torture." Better far had she been a wanton, she thought, a piece of dalliance, a pastime; for then it were a delight to wrench from this young man's heart such love and caresses as she might. But she was a girl of generous impulse, a girl with a charitable part to play though these qualities cost her dear. " If I were wholly bad," she smiled through the tears she could not withhold, " I would take the love you proffer." He slowly raised himself from where he knelt. "Ah, must I leave you? " he asked in a low, urgent voice, as one who asks if there were need. " Yes," she answered ; " for your sake, if not mine own." Bewildered, *he came towards her; while she, worn frail by the strife, stood fearing she had not the strength to deny him nor the desire. " And if I cannot forget ?"" he murmured, dazed. " If I listen," she said, " the day must come when you will long to wipe out the step I had let you take then I shall be the sufferer, not you." Brooding over her beauty, he watched her for a time, wild memories crowding on his brain the theatre, the eager multitude. He saw her in the candle glare her gold-shot hair yet side by side with the enchanting DIFFERENT FROM THE REST 57 vision wns his father, stern and cold, turning him from his door an outcast. So his dream of her passed in a sigh and a flash! Her words were his own thoughts, and she seemed inspired an angel waiting with a flaming torch to point the way. But deceitful youth that lures us on to joys, to perils, to futile effort, always searching for the love that, while it is expected, has already passed, vain youth, that feels it can outlast all men-^-thrilled in his heart and whispered, " She is merely a painted actress carolling her siren's song." As if to awake him from this wild and incoherent reverie, the door behind them opened and the perfume of her scented hair was wafted to him. In the flood of light behind her, he saw the lithe curve of her body; and bewildered by the mystery of sex, afraid of her, afraid of himself, yet mad with a desire he could not quell, he clasped her in his arms; then with the tremor of her kiss upon his lips, ran headlong from her garden, ashamed, exalted, not daring to look back. She bowed her head when he went, and watched him without the strength to move her lips and recall him; then, hearing a familiar step behind her, she closed her eyes instinctively against a hateful face. " Gone ? " said Modene's voice. " Gone.," she answered, her tears streaming freely. CHAPTER VII A DAY FOR JOYOUSNESS To live in a musty shop from dawn till night, stuffing chairs with wool, truckling to the whims of customers, while the sun was shining on bright Paris and the streets were filled with people, was repellent to the love of life that thrilled within Jean-Baptiste. But he could not reproach his father with severity. While his brother toiled in the upholstery shop, he, the first-born, had been sent to school among his betters. There he had envied the children of the mighty; envied one handsome, head strong, little chap in particular, who came escorted by a retinue of flunkeys in peach-coloured liveries. Because this boy was Armand de Bourbon, Prince de Conti, a cousin of the king, he was rushed through his humanities by the time-serving Jesuit masters and passed in philosophy before he had well digested the alphabet. To be born a prince! thought Jean-Baptiste. Ah, what a chance had that little sprig of royalty ! But unless made of a different piece from his kin, his thoughts were already of horses, dogs, and mistresses. Jean-Baptiste had escaped the base shop life of his brother, and felt that he should thank his stars. But a longing to achieve, to conquer, filled his heart; an insatiable love of life and beauty. The day arrived when a philosopher taught him Epi curus and the beauties of Lucretius. The world took on brighter hues, until the day arrived when he saw 58 A DAY FOR jJOYOUSNESS 59 Madeleine, dazzling and beautiful in the candle glare. Love came then, a torrent to overwhelm him, and with it a sense of shame and dismay. In his saner mind, he saw the real Madeleine a woman older than himself, a strolling actress whose life was far from blameless. After the frenzied moment when he fled from her house, days passed and even weeks; but, though he longed to hold her in his arms once more, he dared not go to her. Fear and duty held him, like a trembling hound, in leash. Had he listened to his wiser self, it had been well with him; but he did not. The struggle fretted him to dis traction. He grew angry when he should have been more calm calm with his brother and his shop-ridden ways, with his father when he cringed to testy pur chasers, with his stupid sisters for yawning at their knitting. He could find but contempt in his heart for witless relatives, callous to everything but sous of profit. When his brother spoke, he answered him gruffly, or not at all; and he, being of a dull sort, shook his head, thinking Jean-Baptiste had some maggot in the brain. Finding his first-born thus churlish, his father be rated him soundly for an ungrateful son. "Have I not lavished hard-earned means on thee?" the elder Poquelin urged. " Thou hast been to the most expensive school in Paris! Thou hast wasted thy time philosophising with a learned doctor, and now thou makest but a pretence of studying the laws. Fie, my son, fie upon thee for a scapegrace ! Thy brother Jean is an industrious lad and far more worthy than thou to uphold a fair name and receive the reversion of the honourable employment I hold at court." " I care nought for making the king's bed," answered Jean-Baptiste haughtily ; " but give to me the inherit- 60 FAME'S PATHWAY ance my dear mother bequeathed to me ; then may brother Jean become the royal chambermaid an he will." The upholsterer rubbed his hands gleefully, while his younger son grinned, each seeing an advantage to him self in the young reprobate's offer. The matter was soon accommodated, the grinning brother receiving the reversion of the office of valet de chambre tapissier du roi, and Jean-Baptiste six hundred and thirty livres tournois barely a tithe of his inherit ance, yet enough for a spendthrift, thought his father, while carefully concealing the full facts of his steward ship. Moreover, to ease his conscience, the upholsterer continued to give board and lodging to the recreant, a full quid pro quo, as he deemed it, for the coin of the realm kept safely locked in his strong box. Thus Jean-Baptiste relinquished the family honours and received for his abnegation but a part of his inherit ance. Had he not been in love, he might have been more particular in money matters, but precisely as no two kettles will boil alike, so with young men in love. In one, the trouble sputters over harmlessly in groans and sighs; in another, it is a vehement seething within until the heart breaks. This latter was Jean- Baptiste's kind. But out of the vain struggle rose one desire he could not fulfil by any reasoning a longing for his dead mother's love. She was not a close-ribbed shopkeeper. She would have understood; and from his memory of her he painted his ideal a woman whose thoughts were exalted, whose voice was low, whose pleasure was the happiness of her husband and children; an angel, the rustling of whose skirts brought peace. Often he went to the room where her clothes were kept in an inlaid A DAY FOR JOYOUSNESS 61 chest. Her petticoats of gros de Naples cloth were there, her hongreline of black camlet, her linen collars and lace mob-caps all neatly folded, each on the other. There he would kiss the hems of the dear garments reverently, then weep his heart out in the solitude of that little room above his father's shop. Her books " The Lives of Great Men" and the Bible he thumbed until the edges were rough, praying that he might one day meet and love a woman such as she had been. At moments, a vision of Madeleine came to him Madeleine the radiant and tall. Then, upon the stage beside her, he would see a hateful noble, curled and bewigged; and the demon jealousy would mock and torment him. But, though his heart was tortured until he envied the poor wretches he had seen broken on the wheel in the place de Greve, though he worshipped the sound of her voice, the curve of her white breast, the eyes that had looked into his that night in her garden, he knew that she failed in a thousand ways. Thus for months he fretted, too much in love to endure his kinsfolk, too ashamed of it to mingle abroad; fretted until, one day in early June, his father moved his shop and dwelling to the arcades of the market-place. This house the upholsterer had owned for years, but a frip- per's rent had been of more moment than a location in the heart of Paris; so, while the f ripper paid his rent regularly, Jean Poquelin, sire, plied his own trade in a dingy street. The new quarters were in no sense a home to Jean- Baptiste, bound by the ties of memory to another abode ; but the bustle and noise of the market-place served to drive his low spirits away. The life of the city passed before the door; housewives, merchants, crones and beg- 62 FAME'S PATHWAY gars, porters bent beneath their packs, lean peasants trudging beside their donkeys. Near by stood the pillory, and while the cries of hucksters mingled with the hammering of adjacent pewterers, evil-doers stiffened in the stocks. Across the square rose the Church of the Holy Innocents; beyond the first mart stood the squat, triangular corn exchange; around the market-place were rambling arcades swarming with artisans of every guild. It was a crowd to interest a keen, perceptive lad ; a place to study misery, prosperity, and greed; a place to know humanity. No sooner had Jean-Baptiste grown used to these new sights than Claude Chapelle always alert when not in his cups passed the market-place and saw him mop ing in a doorway. Naturally he took stock of the young man's condition. "Ah, my love-sick friend," he exclaimed, and put forth a hand from beneath some lace frills, " I fancied you had drowned yourself in the Seine long ago." Jean-Baptiste could have struck him. " Stuff and nonsense! " he shrugged, with an indiffer ence too feigned to deceive one so wary. " If you refer to La Bejart, I have not seen her for months." " Oh," said the friend with a grunt, " then your pas sion exploded like the king's fireworks? " " Yes, a flash in the pan ; " but the lad could not withhold a blush, so he turned away petulantly. Chapelle caught his arm. " Then, if it is not love, it must be upholstery," he said, knowing his friend had lied, but conceiving that the cause warranted it. " You look shop-ridden ; come, take a stroll: the morning is young." " Nay, I would fain be unmolested," snarled the other. A DAY FOR JOYOUSNESS 65 " Fudge ! you have inhaled the fumes of too much glue. Get your hat like a good fellow." In truth, Jean-Baptiste needed but this urging. He had vexed himself into a rage; and distraction even the company of bantering Chapelle was a godsend. The sun was shining when the two friends went forth, and the air was balmy. A day for joyousness it seemed to Jean-Baptiste, until he tarried for a moment in a ragamuffin crowd about the pillory. A gang of con victs stood waiting to march to the galleys and, in a wooden cage, some lesser criminals turned slowly on a pivot, a warning to evil-doers. A pickpocket was being flogged, and the public torturers were branding the foreheads and backs of thieves with the fleur-de-lis of shame. Bared to the waist, the shivering wretches awaited the torment. When a hot iron burned into a poor devil's flesh, a look of agony, a heart-rending cry; then tatterdemalion Paris jeered, sang ribald songs, and frolicked a sight to hurt a lover of humanity; so, trembling and sick at heart, Jean-Baptiste turned away. " Such cruelty makes me ashamed to have been born a man," he said, when he could find the tongue to speak. " It makes me long to be a king." " So that you might turn the gaols into churches," shrugged Chapelle, " or theatres," he added, by way of sarcasm. " I should try to be fair to the oppressed," Jean- Baptiste answered, regardless of the taunt. " What justice is there in France to-day? " " None," laughed his friend, pointing to a cut-purse clipping a wallet from the belt of a well-to-do matron while she bargained for a fat chicken. 64 FAME'S PATHWAY " If I were a down-trodden wretch, I would do the same," Jean-Baptiste sighed. To interfere with the traffic of a thief was to be marked for assault on the first dark night ; so the friends strolled on. All Paris bumped shoulders with them: merchants in fine mantles, hautes-bourgeoises aping the manners of the court, maidens with slanting eyes, defiant strumpets, peasants crooked by the burdens on their backs, vendors of gimcracks, rollicking urchins, lackeys, cavaliers, donkeys, beggars, dogs, and blacklegs jostling one an other in a seething throng. Above the jabbering and clatter rose the cries of pedlars : " Brushes and brooms ! Spanish wax! Holland biscuit! Mackerel, four for six sous ! " This tumult was a delight to Jean-Baptiste elbowing his way through the market-place. His mind caught a thousand impressions, his nose as many smells. " In human Paris," he thought, "city of greedy usurers, vile haunt of thieves! Inconstant Paris, city of boudoirs and barricades, where the lute trembles to the lover's touch, or pikes gleam in the night, according to her whim! Yes, she has as many moods as the smells she exhales." But he loved her, cruel and purse-proud, gay or debonair, because he was Paris-born ! Feasting his thoughts thus, he walked beside his gar rulous companion and forgot the travail of his heart in the joy of living. They turned the corner by the newly built Church of St. Eustache, where Jean-Baptiste had been baptised, to enter a rambling street flanked by arcades and shops. Here the going was impeded by a gilded coach heralded by shouting lackeys, and, flat- A DAY FOR JOYOUSNESS 65 tening themselves against a wall, they saw Madame de Rambouillet pass; then wormed their way once more through the crowd. To Claude Chapelle, the pushing, surging throng with its noxious smells was a bore and pest; to Jean-Baptiste, a never-ending source of interest. The fop, the coy maiden, the fishwife screeching her eels and carp, the dotard twiddling his thumbs, had each a character apart. Humanity! patient, afflicted, smiling, courteous, or smooth, depraved, courageous, or exalted; humanity! with its longings, its joys, and its infinite suffering, was a subject of which he never wearied. In the rue St. Honore he saw the house where he had passed his childhood a house with a jutting sign that read, " Au pavilion des singes." A band of pilfering monkeys climbing an orange tree was carved upon the corner post. Crouching on the ground beneath his nimbler comrades, a grisled wiseacre picked up the fruit they dropped an apologue of wordly wisdom, so it seemed to Jean-Baptiste. He paused as he passed to glance at a window above the shop the window of his dead mother's room. "Are you never coming?" asked Chapelle, tugging his sleeve. He looked up dazed. His friend prattled on: " Are you daft about those monkeys climbing a tree ? " " It is the house where I was reared," he answered. " No wonder they call it the monkey pavilion." And Chapelle chuckled at his own youthful wit. Jean-Baptiste turned on his heel. " The way to the Tuileries lies not hither ! " called his friend. 66 FAME'S PATHWAY " The Tuileries ! " he shrugged ; " the haunt of the petite bourgeoise? I prefer the Pont Neuf and its mountebanks." " Because of a certain theatre hard by," laughed the other. " A theatre closed on market days, as you know full well," Jean-Baptiste answered tartly, hurrying toward the Seine. Chapelle followed, twirling his cane. They strolled through streets where goats and don keys crowded them into doorways, to the river bank; they picked their way past barges high and dry upon the sand, horses watering in the river, lusty porters staggering beneath huge bales of merchandise. A stream of traffic flowed incessantly across the bridge before them; coaches, carts, horsemen, and wayfarers. Above the rush of water swirling in a mill wheel rose the cries of boatmen, the creaking of their oars. Upon the Pont Neuf, main artery of Paris, they loi tered, finally, to watch its ever changing life. There idlers gaped before the booths of charlatans, while busy people came and went. The river glided swift beneath them; Notre Dame towered dark against the sky; amid the hum of commerce, shrilled the cries of vagabond humanity: poets reciting their pasquinades, balladists trilling their songs, quacks and pedlars shouting their wares, and, silent in that bedlam, the form of Henry IV astride a horse of bronze a monument of deeds in the midst of rogues and dupes. Before the stall of Bary, a famous charlatan, a crowd had gathered: lackeys and bumpkins to jeer, grisettes and wenches to laugh, masked ladies of the court and cavaliers du plus bel air to smile; for, while the swindler sold his opiates and balms, his mountebanks performed A place for idle thoughts and dreaming A DAY FOR .JOYOUSNESS 67 upon a stage to draw him custom. Jean-Baptiste and his friend mingled with this throng. A rough and tumble farce was being played a farce with coarse, impromptu lines furnished by the actor's ever ready wit, a play for the people. To be a mountebank, Jean-Baptiste thought, to tumble and grimace for the merriment of such a crowd ! Ah, what a life! Yet those crude actors drove care from many a heart with their vulgar fun, for their art was human, and they were human too in their sympathy, their suffering. Ay, had not Turlupin and Gaultier Gar- guille, his mate, once performed on just such a rickety stage ere they became the greatest farceurs of France; and had they not died of grief in the moment of their triumph because a comrade whom they loved was hounded to his grave for mimicking a magistrate? " To wear a clown's cap, to paint your face each day and bare your back to all the beatings of comedy, then die an outcast an outcast for the sake of her ! Ah, what a life ! " he sighed again, wandering toward the parapet of the bridge, for the sight of these humble actors saddened him. A flight of steps led downward to the swift current. Pleasure craft tugged at their moorings; boatmen dozed on the thwarts ; the sunrays danced on the ripples ; across the bridge came the throbbing of the tambours of the royal musketeers. A place for idle thoughts and dream ing, so it seemed to Jean-Baptiste, if he could but forget Madeleine Bejart. Beyond that round Tour de Nesle that rose against the sky, beyond those moated walls, was her theatre. But it pained him to think of her; so he tried to watch the life upon the river, the boat loads of merry-makers, the barges from the sea. Yet hard as he 68 FAME'S PATHWAY strove to drive her from his mind, she seemed to be in the very air he breathed the sound of her soft voice, the perfume of her hair; and in those thoughts of her, her many faults were veiled, until, trusting his own heart too much, she, the adorable queen of it, sat en throned in its high place. How long he stood there dreaming he could not have told, for time is not a thing to be reckoned by a young man in love. Hearing the sound of laughter, he looked up startled to see a party of girls and gallants bent for a day's outing on the river. The moment he had view of them he became all of a tremble; for in that light com pany was Madeleine with that great beauty of hers to make him a furtive fool, afraid to speak, afraid to run, but wildly in love. Modene, too, was there to fire all the hate in him, and the cavalier, seeing him thus abashed, took enough mutinous joy at it to sweep his plumed hat towards a canopied barge by way of invitation. Ware the danger ! No thoughts of it were Jean-Baptiste's then; for, when Madeleine smiled, he bore away the fear of her together with the doubts that had troubled him, and fairly tumbled into the boat in his eagerness to sit next the one supreme creature in all the world at that moment. So he went, while Chapelle stood on the bridge to growl at being left thus in the lurch. But in spite of his envy he pitied the lad. CHAPTER VIII THE MAGIC ISLE THEY had landed on an island Madeleine and Jean- Baptiste an island dense with beauty and the breath of flowers. Their boat lay hidden in the weeds that hung upon the bank. On water burnished by the sun, aspens and willows trailed their dark shadows; the lily in the reeds was white ; the skylark in the blue above, all song. Upon these captivating shores this girl who had known the ill-will of life sat content. To-morrow the tryst would have become a memory, but to-day she built her temple there. Beyond a bend in the flashing river, cavaliers and painted women danced to the tune of a lute; in a hazy, distant city was a hateful shop; but to the youth who breathed unconscious sighs beside her, the world lay leagues away. All the morning long he had sat in a boat while D'Assoucy touched his instrument. When others ate and drank beneath a spreading tree, he, silent and morose, had watched Modene and hated him watched Madeleine, too, when he dared. The cavalier had been quite frank. He had drunk to La Bej art's next love. " Is it you ? " asked Madeleine. " Yes, I," answered Jean-Baptiste. At least so said their glances in the moment when they strayed together. After the pointed laughter and Marie Courtin's smile of triumph, he was the first to speak. 69 70 FAME'S PATHWAY " You are not really angry with me for that evening months ago ? " " Not with you, dear heart," cried her soul. " With you, foolish boy," said her lips, " yes, very angry." And he, in his inexperience, believed her. " But I was leaving you for ever ! " cried his voice, when he could find it. " For ever ! " she laughed ; " then why in Heaven's name did you come with me to-day ? " " Because I am a foolish boy," he said, joining his laughter with hers. Sweet lips! Eyes of tenderest fire! How could he behold them without a tremor? A boat lay moored against the bank, and their mood was to drift. Alone upon the stream, they glided across fair river reaches while the clear, deep water sparkled in the sun and curled in ripples from the prow. Their secret was at large. The woods echoed with it, the winds sighed, and the waters laughed; only they seemed not to know the shore toward which they rowed was enchanted. " Shall we land? " his lips whispered, with a look that said, " I would give my soul for one kiss ! " He waited, resting on his oars, till she murmured, " Yes." As he helped her scramble up the bank, care and duty seemed to fade away, dead and forgotten; for joy was within him, hopeful, divine. Hand linked in hand, they passed through the shade of the willows to a spot bright with flowers; and when they sat there, he, with his eyes intently fixed on hers, could only murmur : " Madeleine, I love you." His words slipped out unawares, and he trembled at THE MAGIC ISLE 71 his daring. Strange that they should bring a timid fluttering to her heart to La Bejart, who had lived. As she did not speak, he waited. " If if I hurt you," said his wounded voice at last. Ey some fatal chance, she looked up wistfully in a way she firmly had not meant to look. A joyous shud der ran through his young body. Unconsciously his daring grew, and he drew close to her. In her eager ness to restrain him, she met his glance once more; with out warning, her blue eyes lightened love, and to his urgent look she said: " I love you, too, dearest, yet I fear " Lips with the curve of the love-god's bow, lips as fragrant as the flowers upon the bank! How could his eyes behold them and he not kiss when she gave him her whole dear face? Indeed, he asked himself that very question when, filled with new and glorious emotions, he sighed and gazed at her in abject wonderment. And so in trembling unison they built their altar there this girl who knew the ill-will of life, this youth who knew only her. And so, before love's witchery, fear and detestable duty vanished; for there were daffodils and trailing bramble, and there, beside a youth o'er- burdened with emotion, were two blue eyes and golden hair. When nature and love conspire, where is the law and where the prophet to keep two beings apart? "Pis true the decalogue became a pagan rite before love's necro mancy; but perish the law and all the prophets in the surging of their hearts ! Had their vows been pledged to Mother Church, the world had lost where Heaven gained. To dream was their sole concern. Who cared if a 12 FAME'S PATHWAY hateful shop were in a hazy city, and who if a chandler were unpaid, when beside the white temple of their love they might build a castle to defend their hope? The lad had a competence six hundred livres in all; flushed with pride and happiness, he laid it at her feet material foundation for the keep. He had ambitions too ; for now that the die was cast, he planned a brilliant edifice which they might build together, stone by stone, until above the proud battlements the oriflamme of fame should wave. Had not the stage been a temple in the halcyon days of Greece, and the culmination of its art the festival of a god? His dream was to revive this glory. She should be high priestess; he, her oracle. " Ah, dearest," he sighed, " that day when first I saw you and my heart was tortured by your beauty, the thought that the world must turn from you was the hardest to bear." " The world cannot be changed," she said most bitterly. "What injustice!" he cried; "what infamy!" Gazing with trembling eyelids under hers, he failed to see the strolling actress not above reproach the woman older than himself. But the isle was bewitched, remember, and she the enchanting queen of it to his infatuated eyes. Mad indeed with love and ambition, he forgot his fears and qualms, when he, a grand lover, kissed her and held her panting to his breast. He would learn much from her lips yet what he learned was what she chose to confess; for where is the heart so honest that its secrets are not tinged a roseate hue when told ? Modene, the turbulent spirit, she turned the page of him quickly. Once banished by the king, he had now been banished by her, she said. Pride forbade THE MAGIC ISLE 73 the divulgence of Marie Courtin's wiles; likewise the entirety of her own love the shame that had darkened it. Suffice it for him to know the affair was ended and the cavalier would soon be off to seek adventures with the young Due de Guise. Heaven be praised! thought he. "The past is dead," he softly said; "think, dear, of the future." Then the castle grew another storey at least. She was a girl of capacity and discretion ; he, a wild dreamer : but the edifice promised fair. " No more upholstery ! " he shouted with boyish fer vour ; " no more law books ! " His heart burst its prison bars and he was free free as the skylark in the blue above, free to consecrate his life to her; so his ardour galloped a mad pace. Had not a king decreed that no reproach should at tach to the profession of actor, and had not the cardinal, his master, written plays? The church alone had not removed its ban. But the stage was in the hands of low born vagabonds unworthy to be shriven. Ah, there was the rub; and was not she, dear girl, and he, as well, in a way to save a noble art from degradation? She was fairly well-born, so was he; together, they might exalt the stage and make actor a name to be borne without shame. Yes, they would form a company of players, each at least a bourgeois of Paris, to play for the love of art: a company to enact great tragedies such as had made the stage in Greece a marvel for all time. Such was the wild plan he breathed as he held her trembling in his arms; and though the poor girl felt it doomed beforehand, she timidly acquiesced, for he was master by this time of her reason and her soul. She 74 FAME'S PATHWAY exhausted herself by entreaties, but he bore away opposi tion as he bore away fear, by the very vigour of his love. It had burst its young bonds, and, like a torrent, swept her from her footing. " Think, dear; a theatre without slavish traditions, a theatre where the actors are worthy folk, and the art is a true mirror of life ! Ah, my sweet, when these poor livres of mine are gone, we shall have a following glad to pay us thrice the prices of the royal troupe rather than that our work should perish ! " The furtive girl could only murmur : " The boldness of the enterprise fairly takes my breath away; yet I fear " But he, being in an eager mood, paid no heed. " We will call it ' The Illustrious Theatre ' a name to con- jure with! " Here was Madeleine Bej art, well versed in her calling, who, having let her heart be stolen, was preparing to follow the mad youth who had taken it into any depth of folly; but she, like the isle, was bewitched; so she let him proceed in his vain castle building, until, to her charmed eyes, as well, fame was unfurled on the top most battlement. She with her experience, he with his zeal and courage, she thought. Yes, the plan promised fair and reconciled some qualms of conscience too, for surely this was not vagabondage, this purpose to exalt the stage. So, with their hearts for fiery steeds, love galloped over boundless plains of fancy toward the castle they had built; but if the goal was in the air, so were they yes, leagues above the earth in the clear, delicious air of paradise! " Only to convince the world that the player's art is THE MAGIC ISLE 75 worthy of respect," he cried in his enthusiasm; "what a life work, dearest, for you and me ! " " Beloved/' she sighed at this, " I have learned from your lips what love might be ; " for he had a hundred hearts, you see, and she but one true from that moment. While they dreamed, the sun disc nestled in the hills. Round the bend of the flashing river came a gilded barge. The shadows deepened on the stream; the bur nished river sparkled in the fading sunshine; beneath a bright canopy, cavaliers and painted girls sang to a trembling lute. Plash went the oars in unison, until rude laughter vexed the lovers from their dream of para dise, and they awoke to find themselves mere chilly mor tals on damp mother earth. CHAPTER IX A FOOL'S PARADISE AFTER that magic hour, Jean-Baptiste could talk of nothing but his project. There were other young men in Paris who sighed for the moon, but to uphold the stage merely for the love of it, seemed even to these a madness on a par with tilting windmills. For love of an actress, yes ; but since the youthful propagandist had taken the precaution to secure the affection of the fair one for himself, his most excellent design met with many a tongue in the cheek. Two young scamps, however, became enthusiastic proselytes to his illustrious venture, to wit: Germain Clerin, idler by trade, and Nicolas Bonnenfant, a law yer's clerk. These, being without specie, found the ad venture to their liking, and being burghers of Paris, too, they came within the scheme's exalted scope ; yet two impecunious rascals could hardly be dubbed as illus trious company even by zealous Jean-Baptiste. Here, wily Joseph Bejart, sniffing six hundred livres from afar, came, rubbing his hands gleefully, with a suggestion to make. Since his sister and he already adorned the stage, a further leavening of professional talent should not prove amiss. It was a case of beg gar's choice, so portly Beys votary of Bacchus and Apollo was rescued from the wreckage of a stranded company, and when to his wine-logged person were added the delectable forms of three such comediennes as Catherine Desurlis, Madelon Malingre, and La Bej art's sister Genevieve, the young impresario fairly A FOOL'S PARADISE 77 exulted. Here was a company to reckon with, thought he; yet as he noted how nearly it approached in per sonnel fair Madeleine's luckless band, his heart had one qualm at least. Jean-Baptiste de 1'Hermite and his rosy-cheeked spouse, Marie Courtin, scorned the enterprise or shall it be said that their dreams of a cottage in the comte Venaissin began to be substantiated? The Baron de Modene betook himself thither and they in his train. This departure of an atrocious nobleman brought joy to Jean-Baptiste and peace to Madeleine; yet no sooner was he in the comte than he was off again to join the suite of young Guise, leaving base Hermite and his conscienceless wife tenants of the cottage they longed to possess. Being the villain whose machinations tempered the hero's ecstasy with gall, Modene's departure should end this tale; yet there were other detriments to Jean-Bap- tiste's content, the most apparent being the very players he had gathered about him. When he reviewed his gawky company, he was forced to acknowledge in his inmost heart that the only illustrious quality of it so far was its name. But the die was cast. Failure was not to be dreamed of. O, youth ! the faith of it, the strength of it! Soon the rumour circulated through the market-place that young Poquelin was going on the stage. " For love of a piece of fondling," whispered estimable house wives. Maidens, with their ears strained for gossip, feigned not to listen; but tongues wagged readily then as now; so the story grew apace until Madeleine was said to be the dalliance of half the gilded youth of France. 78 FAME'S PATHWAY Well might an upholsterer to the king despair ! When a lad craved a wanton, must he needs bring disgrace to a worthy name! His son an actor! To clip purses were better employment, since there was profit in that. Pity the poor man and imagine how he stormed ! As for Jean-Baptiste himself, he stood firm as a rock. Nothing his father might say could turn him from his purpose. He had been seethed in middle class preju dice since boyhood, and the wild doings already chroni cled were only the transports of a restless nature, ebbing, flowing, without aim or assured direction. His mind once made up, his heart became outwardly still, while in wardly jubilant; yet to onlookers he seemed but a stub born fool bewitched by a worthless baggage. The pity is that those who knew Madeleine spoke not a word in her defence. Undisturbed by the chiding, Jean-Baptiste listened calmly to all that was said to him, and would perhaps answer " Yes," or " No," if the mood were upon him, otherwise nothing. His short-witted family could never comprehend an ambition lika-rhis, so why waste his breath? But before putting his resolve into execution, he waited an unconscionable time nearly a full month while maturing his plans. Madeleine he saw daily. She was still the girl he adored, but his homage did not extend to her family or rather, shall it be said, to her mother, a whining bel dam despite the suckling child at her breast. Her poor lord had departed this life since the starlit night when Madeleine had vexed impassioned Jean-Baptiste with footless talk of kinsfolk. Being dead, his widow mourned or execrated him, according to her mood, for his sole legacy had been his debts. These she publicly A FOOL'S PARADISE 79 /enounced, and with them the name of Bejart for that of Marie Herve, her maiden cognomen. Together with his debts, the defunct court crier be queathed to the widow who thus forswore his name and obligations, a child in arms a little one christened soon after his death Armande Gresinde Claire Elisabeth Bejart. A wilful baby was she, yet coy withal, and Jean-Baptiste delighted in her smiles and cooing, but her testy mother cursed him for a ne'er-do-well whenever he came to woo her eldest daughter. This termagant lived in the rue de la Perle, and so dutiful was Made leine that a daily visit to her was an obligation of her life, the fulfilment of which vexed Jean-Baptiste sadly. Of his sweetheart he dare not lose a moment yet could not enjoy one, since his relatives as well as hers worried him t,o a rag. The hours of vain arguing had been better spent by the upholsterer, his father, in stuffing chairs; yet, be fore disgrace should tarnish the name of Poquelin, he must exhaust all means to shield it. Finding his own entreaties of no avail, this most excellent shopkeeper enlisted the wise men of the neighbourhood. When their appeals fell on deaf ears, he summoned as a last resort one George Pinel, a master scrivener. This worthy had taught the lad penmanship ; why should he not teach him sense, argued the upholsterer. Now this scribe was somewhat of a Pharisee as well. By his smooth tongue he convinced of his rectitude, and for a promise to sway the son, obtained from the close- fisted father a substantial loan a triumph for his urbanity. The penman quite charmed the budding actor, since he perceived the fellow's histrionic talent at a glance. 80 FAME'S PATHWAY Eyebrows as shaggy as Guillot-Gorju's, a pump-like nose as well: What a comic mask! thought he. The fellow's pleadings, too, were interspersed with Latin. Surely he was created for the role of doctor; so, while the scrivener argued in his smoothest rhetoric, Jean-Bap- tiste did his devilmost to win a convert for his enter prise. " What ! the scion of a house honoured in commercial Paris since three generations would bring dishonour to his name! Facilis est descensus Averni! " The lad said, "Why not? Humanum est errare!" The penman's brow grew dark at this. " An actor, my boy, because a wench has bewitched you! Horribile dictu! Latet anguis in herba! " " In totidem verbis, credula res amor est! " retorted young Poquelin, stiffening himself, for he thought to give the chap his fill of Latin. "Amor furor brevls est. Nosce teipsum!" said the scribe, with his eyes rolled heavenward. At this Jean-Baptiste threw down the gauntlet. " Do you imagine your turgid Latin impresses me ? Bah ! For a mess of pottage you would sell your soul." When good Master Pinel had gasped, he stood blink ing the astonishment from his eyes. " Such disrespect to one of my quality ! " he cried out, whimpering. " Yes, sell your soul," the lad repeated ; " you, who prate to me in bad Latin because my father has bribed you to tell me I am on the high-road to hell ! " The rogue took a deep breath and a shuffling step forward. " You young scamp, you shall answer for this!" " I know you, Monsieur George Pinel," said Jean- A FOOL'S PARADISE 81 Baptiste, without moving his eyes from his adversary. " You are a true vagabond at heart : a born comedian, if ever I saw one. Only play the impostor on the stage as you played it to me just now, and France will have another Guillot-Gorju." When the scribe could catch his breath, he became busy with one shift after another to redeem his lost credit; but Jean-Baptiste was right in that he had a vagabond's heart. He had a shrew of a wife, too, and the thought of parting company with her was not un pleasant. Seeing him waver, the lad took him up swiftly. " What do you earn by your scrivening? A mere pittance to keep the wolf from the door! My friend, the role of doctor would suit you to a dot." To be done with George Pinel, he took the father's money and the son's advice. To exchange an ink-pot for a pair of buskins was a matter of slight urging; but when the upholsterer thrust his head through the door to see how the fight waged, his foxship must needs do a bit of slippery acting just to test his ability in a new calling. With a finger on his lips, he whispered that Jean-Baptiste was headstrong but had listened to wise counsel; whereat the father breathed a glad sigh, and the son, to hide his merriment, turned his face to the wall. Quiet reigned now in the Poquelin household, where Jean-Baptiste had been rushing in and galloping away and growing more wild about Madeleine with every hour. But when the story spread abroad that a yourrg law student and a strolling actress were engaging a theatre to regenerate the drama, the actors of the Hotel de Bour- gogne and the Theatre du Marais split their sides until 82 FAME'S PATHWAY the echo of their laughter reached the arcades of the market-place. Then the wool could be pulled no more over the upholsterer's eyes, even by so wily a rogue as George Pinel. However, a jovial friend of his father intervened in Jean-Baptiste's behalf. This worthy, by name Leonard Aubry, and a pavier in ordinary to the king, argued that a young man should follow his bent. " Pardi ! " said he, " a good actor is better than a bad lawyer." " Thou hast a son, friend Aubry," answered Poquelin. " Were he one day to become enamoured of a worthless play-actress, it would serve thee justly." " Pardi ! chuckled the pavier, " I could not blame him for following in his father's footsteps. Hast thou seen La Beaupre of the Marais theatre, friend Poquelin? A veritable dream of beauty, as I trow ! " The upholsterer's rage came hot from his sordid heart. " Out with thee, Aubry, for mischief-maker ! I '11 have no vicious rogue like thee preaching sedition to my son ! " The pavier shrugged, as he went, as if to say to Jean- Baptiste that he pitied him but could aid him no further. In a bad quarter of an hour the young man was con vinced that he must give up his inamorata or the shelter of his father's roof, and, prodigal that he was, he seized the paternal horn of the dilemma. He had been set upon by every ill-repute; disgrace to his blood, offence against God's law, vagrancy, profligacy all these and more were laid at his door. But now, with glance alight and before his heart's eye a vision of a tall girl with blue eyes and smiling lips, he faced his father's wrath without flinching. A FOOL'S PARADISE 83 " Stuffing chairs and making the king's bed are not the only objects in life," he said quite calmly. " Out, you ungrateful son! " fumed the parent. " If ever you darken my door " " Rest assured I shall not, until the day when you will be proud to have me." Jean-Baptiste spoke with scorn, but with eyes most piteous searched his father's face. Out of the wild struggle, a longing for one look of tenderness arose one word of fellow-feeling from some of his kin; but he knew that in the adjoining room his innocuous sis ters dozed over their knitting, while a grinning brother listened, overjoyed, with an ear to the keyhole. Heaven sends us kinsmen, he thought, but if the devil inspires our choice of friends, he should be given his due of thanks; and despairing of ever finding sym pathy at home, he took a last look at the room. The bed with its silken tester, the walnut cupboards, the seven-legged table, the brass andirons in the fireplace, the caquetoires where old women were wont to gossip, all swam before his feverish eyes crass emblems of respectability and prejudice. Better to be the meanest vagabond on earth, he thought, than stifle in such an atmosphere. " An outcast for her sake ! God help me ! " he prayed ; then turned to go. " Father," he said in a firm, calm voice, " time must decide which of us is right." The shopkeeper's breath came short through his nose. " Out, thou ungrateful cockerel ! " he gasped. The storm Jean-Baptiste had so long foreseen had broken at last, but the forecast had been more terrifying than the deluge. Aglow with a delicious sense of free dom, he walked across the market-place, joyful enough 84 FAME'S PATHWAY to whistle a tune and compose a whole nosegay of verses to Madeleine. His first act, since he now considered himself perfectly free, was to go straightway to her house in the cul-de-sac de Thorigny. His step quick ened as he went, until he ran trembling into her arms. " The last bridge is burned ! " he cried. " Dearest, I am wholly yours ! " Like a woman, she reproached him for what she fondly wished. " Dear heart, you should not have taken this step ! " One ardent hand embraced her; the other held her face to kiss. " Then you should not be the adorable girl you are ! " But she, worried by many thoughts, could not be as wholly affectionate as he wished. He had buried the past that morning and found the joyous present care enough; but she, having felt the hard raps of fortune, was sorely troubled. An inexperienced company to play for the love of art ! Small wonder veteran actors split their sides with laugh ter, thought the girl; and did her uttermost to counsel caution. But he, all afire with love and ambition, could rave only of her beauty and his own overweening con fidence that Paris would be at her feet. " Six hundred livres," said she ; "a drop in the bucket." " It will pay a month's rent of the tennis court, and the carpenter to make the alterations." She stood up, very serious. " But in the meantime," she said, "while the theatre is being made ready?" " We will go to Rouen and set up our trestles at the fair of St. Romain. What a lark, my sweet ! " He took stock of their enterprise. A FOOL'S PARADISE 85 The Mestayers' tennis-court in the Fosse de Nesle, where he had first met her, was to be their theatre. Maitre Gallois, the tennis master, would let it for nine teen hundred livres a year. Ah, but she would not know the dingy old place when a master builder had made his repairs. The Hotel de Bourgogne would be put in the shade completely. " All for six hundred livres," said Madeleine. "Every enterprise must move on credit. It is the way fortunes are made, my dear." " And lost," answered the girl, thoughtfully. He paid no attention to her qualms. His small patri mony would launch the company and ensure it a place in the hearts of the public. A band of friendly patrons would be soon recruited, glad to pay most liberally rather than that the enterprise should fail. As for the fidelity of the company, a lawyer was drawing up an iron-bound contract which all would sign a contract in which it was expressly stipulated that she, dear girl, should choose the roles that pleased her. Madeleine listened dumbly. The lad had no after thoughts or retrospects, and he tried to coax her into acquiescence, but she could not free herself from the fears that disturbed her. It was a harebrained scheme to tax a wiser head than his, and she had been persuaded into it against her better judgement. But if the Mestayers' tennis-court were actually en gaged, she thought, and his word pledged then it was a point of honour to uphold the enterprise; so she re solved to browbeat her mother and her brother into signing with her the obligation for the rent. What experience and talent she possessed must be cast with the lot of this Illustrious Theatre. Yes, she had let 86 FAME'S PATHWAY the lad's heart be stolen together with her own, but the poor girl knew that she was the culprit, and all these thoughts working upon her mind made her love a torment. Her suitor's enthusiasm, however, was boundless. Of Scaramouche, the Italian mime, he learned grimace, only to scorn his master for a mere buffoon; for was not he, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, soon to be foremost trage dian of France the superior of Montfleury and Belle- rose! Meanwhile, he presented his ill-tutored com pany to audiences of friends, only to be told he was a fool to believe that such a motley crew would ever set the world afire. The sneers were galling to his pride ; yet he remained undaunted in the hope that time would prove his friends were cavillers. Love, indeed, was alight and blinding him with the flame. He had eyes for Madeleine alone. " Dear," he said to her one day late in June, when the plans for the enterprise were fairly launched, " my only crime is loving you." And he tried to draw her to him. " Jean-Baptiste," she answered, endeavouring to get free but this of course he could not permit " Jean- Baptiste, dear, I have given you my best." After he had kissed her, she began to speak more seriously. " I doubt if my love is worth the price it has already cost. Suppose this enterprise should fail ? " " Fail ! " he cried, exultant as a conqueror, " the word is not in my vocabulary." His faith was the conviction of youth, the glow in the heart that with every year grows dim before the reality of life. CHAPTER X TEMPERED BLISS FLOWERS made Madeleine's garden a lovely place, and Jean-Baptiste gathered of them to adorn her. Of the forget-me-nots he made garlands the colour of her eyes, and decked her golden hair with daisies. " Madeleine ! " he cried, " Queen Madeleine ! " Could such ardour last, she asked herself; and from her knowledge of men grave doubts arose in answer. Strange mixture, he seemed, of courage and fantasy; yet his love had become her necessity. It had filled her soul with light; but should his passion cool, what was to become of herself? Mercy upon her, she dared not think of that. " The young can only love," she said quickly to laugh away fear, " and repent when their beards are grey." At this perversion of his own words Jean-Baptiste frowned until she drove herself to speak. " It is so easy for two people to believe that love will endure; but there is always one who is mistaken." " Which of us, dear ? " he asked, smiling ; " you or I?" She searched his face. " You, I fear, since you have so many years in which to repent." He turned away petulantly, she catching his arm. " Ah, but I should love my boy were he to tire of me to-morrow ! " He kissed her, then, and felt her heart beat. Love seemed so strong and salient that he could not under- 87 88 FAME'S PATHWAY stand her fears. He, a young paladin longing to make war upon the ignorant and biassed, was afire with ambi tion in the guise of love; she a cast-off favourite she, La Bejart, was consumed by love itself. He wanted the sun, the moon, and all the stars; she, nothing in the world but him. But over their ardour came cold laughter like a shower to drench it; for, while he kissed the lovely girl, two brazen ladies of their company came tripping through the garden with their saucy noses in the air. One was Catherine Desurlis, known already to her com rades as " Trinette " a diminutive more suitable to her volatile and tiny self than the sombre name with which she had been christened. The other was Madeleine Malingre, dubbed Madelon, a blonde with a character light as her complexion, yet with a heart less black than her gypsy-like companion's. " Of all the forward dames ! " declared Trinette Desurlis at sight of Madeleine kissed by Jean- Baptiste. " Of all the shameless lovers ! " said Madelon Malingre, amid much cachinnation, and dipped a courtesy. " Two charming ladies wait upon your pleasure." " Likewise a company illustrious in its mind's eye," sneered Trinette, " a company fretting in your mother's house while you are billing here! Methinks you have laid a deep plan to foist a homeless company on your mother and then decamp." Now Madeleine had indeed a motive in gathering the Illustrious Theatre beneath her mother's roof. It was Marie Herve's own domicile, unmortgaged to the pay ment of her late lord's debts; and to make her a part TEMPERED BLISS 89 and parcel of the enterprise was Madeleine's unfilial plan, she seeing that Jean-Baptiste ? s livres were the unstable scaffolding on which it tottered. Already the obligations accrued were many times this paltry heritage ; so Madeleine vowed that she, and her family too, must pledge their all to the Illustrious Theatre an ardent vow inspired by ardent love. With fatuous argument she had plied her petulant mother and wily brother, until, in sheer despair at ever silencing her, they con sented to abet the harebrained scheme. All this she kept from Jean-Baptiste, and now that Trinette sniffed her plan from afar, she temporised. " The signing of the contract will take place in my mother's house because it is far roomier than mine. No dire reason is necessary, my dear Trinette, to explain so simple a fact." " However that may be," shrugged the girl, " your comrades await the end of your caressing." " Not to mention a lawyer and two notaries," con tinued Madelon Malingre. To end this bantering, Madeleine clapped her hand upon the painted lips of Madelon Malingre, while Jean- Baptiste, in a moment of devilry, kissed those of Trinette Desurlis because they looked the more impertinent, and ran laughing to the street a piece of mischief not at all to Madeleine's liking, though she laughed the merriest of all and badgered Jean-Baptiste for his cowardly flight. A threadbare company awaited them in Marie Herve's house, for the doublets of Beys and Bejart might have served for prinking glasses, so well worn were they. The shoes of Nicolas Bonnenfant boasted a pair of silver buckles, to be sure ; and George Pinel, the unctuous 90 FAME'S PATHWAY scribe, had, with money borrowed from Jean-Baptiste's father, bought himself a shoulder cloak in June against the coming of cold January: but except for the plumage of the ladies' frailty and Germain Clerin's crimson boot- hose, there was little in the aspect of the gathering to impress even Jean-Baptiste with its illustrious quality. Yet it made good in manner the part which it lacked in mien. Beys and Bejart gave themselves tragedy airs; Pinel spouted Latin like a doctor of Padua; Ger main Clerin, being as great in pride as in poverty, dubbed himself Sieur de Villiers, without rhyme or rea son, and swung a rapier as imposing as his pseudonym; while the ladies, save Madeleine, outdid the precious of the court in languishments and bows. There were ten associates all told, six of the sterner sex, four of the fair ten hopeful vagabonds proudly styling themselves " persons of family," in order that they might not pass for mere vulgar player folk. To witness the contract and whine betimes, there was slatternly Marie Herve, the widow of the late court crier, with her baby, Armande Bejart, nestling in her podgy arms. Trinette Desurlis's mother, too, was there, be cause that sophisticated girl was not of age an irony of caution, as will be seen. The lawyer who presided at the shabby conclave had the cognomen of Mareschal. An advocate in Parlia ment was he, whose robes were mottled with the grease of every cabaret in Paris a briefless advocate, whose avocation was play-writing. In better days his tragedies had seen the boards of the Hotel de Bour- gogne. Now his legal services were given freely to these unknown players with the hope of marketing a play or two gradus ad Parnassum, as he viewed it. TEMPERED BLISS 91 This out-at-the-elbow company and the sight of the contract which was to bind him to a life of vagabond age, unfolded and ready to sign, made Jean-Baptiste reflect on the foolhardy step he was taking. To flount himself out of his father's house had been a mere mat ter of youthful impulse, but here were nine human beings who had accepted his leadership. A case of the blind leading the blind, it seemed to him, for what did he know of the stage except the vague conviction that the actor's art as practised in his day was false? Yet he was sworn to lead this shoddy, posturing crusade he, an inexperienced lad of twenty-one! To convince himself he had this mission to perform had been an easy task, his love for Madeleine its natural corollary. Only now did he feel the weight of the burden he had shouldered and realise what cutting aloof from home and family meant. " Fool ! Fool ! Fool ! " cried his throbbing heart. He saw the gentle eyes of Madeleine gazing at him, and pride arose in all its strength. With hands tightly clinched, he ground his teeth in a firm resolve to fight for his beliefs. Calmly now he listened to lawyer Mareschal's mo notonous voice. " Contract of copartnership," the man of the robe began. The names of the signatories were passed over quickly as agreeing to unite for the purpose of acting under the title of " The Illustrious Theatre." Binding clauses followed. When Jean-Baptiste heard that Clerin, Bejart, and himself would play the leading roles alternately, his heart beat suddenly with vanity, then sank within him. To declaim before admiring friends had been rare sport 92 FAME'S PATHWAY enough, but to face a cold audience in the glare of the candles, with no support but his trembling legs! The very thought of it made him quake in his shoes. But there was that iron-bound document, with a fine of three thousand livres for every deserter and four months' notice before a resignation might be accepted. He had dictated those rigid clauses himself; but if he signed and pride told him that he must there could be no turning back. He thought of a shop in the market-place. Even his grinning brother seemed to be of his own flesh, and he longed to flee these shabby comrades, yearned to go to his father in all humility. " Given on the afternoon of the last day of June of the year one thousand six hundred and forty-three," read the man of law, his chest swelling to forensic proportions. In that moment all the incidents of Jean-Baptiste's life came thronging back to him as to a drowning man. The actors and the scented women swam before his trembling eyes. He barely heard the lawyer's droning voice, " Will you sign, monsieur ? " He took the pen in his icy hand. "Are you ill? " cried Trinette Desurlis, putting forth an arm to steady him. He drew his hand across his face. " It is only the heat," he muttered, summoning all the strength and courage of his nature. Turning to Beys, he handed him the pen. " The most distinguished first," he said in a voice quite calm. The wine-bibber smirked, and wrote with avidity. Jean-Baptiste turned to Joseph Bejart then, but the TEMPERED BLISS 93 wily actor thought a dose of flattery not unmeet for a case of timidity. " Since Ri-ri-richelieu once clapped him in the B-b-bastille for too much presumption, it is not sur prising that such a conceited old sinner as Beys should usurp the place of our young leader," stuttered the artful Joseph ; " but I, f-f-f or one, refuse to sign before the gentleman to whose genius and enthusiasm we owe the conception and accomplishment of our d-d-distinguished enterprise." Such an ado of sputtering and whistling accompanied this speech that the company was put in fine feather of merriment and burst into a chorus of applause so gen uine that Jean-Baptiste forgot both apprehension and remorse. Confused, blushing, overjoyed at the unfore seen ovation, he would gladly have kissed again the girl who dragged him to the table, had it not been for Mad eleine's restraining glance. Even the lawyer in greasy wig and spectacles, whose quill had seemed a bat-like claw pointing in derision, became a messenger of light. The surety that he could brave all danger, the triumphant conviction of his power, arose in all its might to drive away skulking fear. Smiling, he glanced at the faces about him. Earnest, sympathetic friends they seemed, in spite of their dowdy clothes, comrades who looked to him for leadership. It was youth with its deceitful strength, its romance of illusion; seizing the pen, he wrote in a bold, free hand, " Jean-Baptiste Poquelin." Trinette Desurlis leaned smiling on his shoulder. " That name is too long and ugly for the stage," she said. " Too respectable, you mean," he answered, with a 94 FAME'S PATHWAY touch of sadness in his voice the echo of a remorse he could not wholly stifle. Handing the pen to Bonnenfant, he turned away. Trinette understood and followed him to the window, where he stood gazing into the street, with a hand tightly clasped upon his breast. " I did not wish to hurt your feelings," she whispered, coming quite close to him; she had a liking for him since he had kissed her. " Feelings are made to hurt," he answered, picking up a book that lay upon the window ledge. " I but meant that it is the custom for actors to assume stage names," Trinette said apologetically. " Now that you are to be famous, it might be well to choose one that would please the public fancy." Madeleine came out of the corner where she had been watching, minded to interrupt this meddling. He di vined this much by the look she sent the minx. " Trinette bids me choose a name for the stage," he said, taking Madeleine's hand. She picked up the book he had dropped. " A name ? " she repeated. "A name like Montfleury or Bellerose. This lady would have mine own too ugly for the public taste." With his face close to hers, he glanced at the book as she opened it. " ' The Week of Bliss/ " he whispered, reading the title ; " propitious omen for you and me." " By Francois de Moliere," she said. " Poor man," he laughed, " why should not his name be mine? He has been dead these twenty years dead and forgotten." " Moliere," she repeated. TEMPERED BLISS 95 " A week, nay, a whole month of bliss," he whispered ardently. " The author's name shall be mine own." Flushed and smiling, he faced the company. His voice rang exultantly through the shabby room. " No more glue, no more law books, for no longer am I Poquelin, the upholsterer's son. Moliere is my name ! " " A pretty name," said Trinette Desurlis, her dark eyes full upon him. "A pretty girl," thought he, gazing into the tawny face. Madeleine caught the look that passed between them and discovered a phase of him only half suspected till that moment. Too well versed in her calling to disclose the fear that trembled in her heart, she shouted merrily : " Hail, Moliere ! " Hastening to the sideboard, she pledged the newly christened actor in good, red wine his faith and his future. BOOK THE SECOND What girl more beautiful than La Desurlis or more capable of inspiring wild hatred? . . . Ere long, she must have cast aside all veils to appear as an expert and renowned coquette." A. BALUFFK. CHAPTER I THE KING'S HIGHWAY ALONE of a weary company, Jean-Baptiste gazed at the valley of the Seine. There villages lay strewn like scat tered toys, there lazy wind-mills turned against an azure sky; but Paris herself was hidden behind a bold hilltop, and with her his shop-ridden past. While com rades, weary from their three leagues of footing, slept beside the king's highway, the fires of youth burned gaily in Jean-Baptiste's breast. " Poquelin " was now a name to be buried deep; for was he not Moliere, the player; and was not that fair sleeping girl beside him adorable? A pest upon your shibboleths of duty! His watchword was " Eternal Joy ! " Nay, there was no turning back, even had he the mind, since his all had been pledged for the lease of a play house a reaching out for triumphs to come. To Rouen for the Fair of St. Romain, and there to bid for fame, whilst skilful artisans in Paris wrought a dingy tennis- court into a theatre, was the plan the rash fellow had hatched. This mellow day in October saw the first step toward its fulfilment a day bright as the enterprise, for a brilliant sun shone overhead and autumn breezes fanned the valley side. While deep-throated bells pealed far the noon-day Angelus, fat Beys snored contentedly, an empty flagon tight within his fist. A new recruit, named Catherine Bourgeois, now swelled the ranks a silent girl, con tent to revere Madeleine and keep her own counsel; 99 100 FAME'S PATHWAY therefore, five actors and five pretty dames lay stretched upon the roadside, whilst valiant Moliere, for thus he must be called henceforth, dreamed upon fame's path way. Four musicians, asleep beside their drum, their trumpet, and their fiddles, formed a group apart. They styled themselves " Master Players of Instruments." The material comforts of the undertaking were few a ponderous cart piled high with boxes and scenery, four gaunt oxen, and a pair of aged palfreys which the actresses might mount in turn. But the actors' lot was to trudge behind the creaking wheels ; and already Ger main Clerin's boot-hose bore travel stains, while Nicolas Bonnenfant had lost a silver buckle from his shoes. As for unctuous George Pinel, his cloak was a burden al ready, and lay in the cart. Joseph Bejart, the stutterer, lying beside the arque- buse he bore to protect the caravan against marauders, was the first to yawn, stretch himself, and speak, and that after a dig in the corpulent ribs of Beys. " W-w-wake up, thou drunkard," he cried, " the d-d-day is already half spent." The fat man grumbled, grasped his flagon tighter, and snored again. A vigorous kick made him awake with a start, topple over, and crush his flagon into a hundred bits. " The bottle has been the upsetting of one more genius," laughed Madelon Malingre. " Tush, can a fat sponge be a genius ? " was the retort of Trinette Desurlis. " In the words of Rabelais, ' I drink no more than a sponge/ " said Beys, rubbing his blear eyes. " By Saint Genest, I wish it had been a tun of Spanish wine in stead of a bottle of common grape." 102 FAME'S PATHWAY Perceiving Madeleine and the young actor standing by the roadside amid lowly companions, the horseman smiled contemptuously. Moliere longed to seize the arquebuse that Joseph Bejart bore. A ball through Modene's heart would requite his hate, he thought, his mind recalling a vision of him sitting on a stage, a look of surfeit in his cruel eyes. Madeleine, too, saw her erstwhile protector. Pressing Moliere's hand tremulously, she answered the very ques tion his tongue dared not speak: " The past is dead ; you need not fear." He was glad of her reassurance, for his jealous eyes had read longing in her glance, whereas the girl's heart suffered only contrition. " Madeleine," he cried, " if you should ever turn from me ! " " I turn from you ! " she exclaimed. " I see you know me not ! " Prescient in love's way, she saw his undoing in the very vehemence of his nature, for she knew whither his ardour must lead him ere he should learn the poignant lessons of experience. Meanwhile, he felt a yearning to confess the shame that arose within him. He, the son of a bourgeois of Paris, born to a station at court, a wretched vagabond in the dust of a nobleman's carriage ! " An outcast ! " he thought, " an outcast for love of her!" " Are you turtle-doves, to stand there cooing the entire day ? " sneered Trinette, with a contemptuous glance at the lovers. The discomfited pair drew apart; the pageant having passed, meantime, even to the last sumpter mule. Their dreams had been longer than they knew. THE KING'S HIGHWAY 103 ' 'T is t-t-time to march/' said Bejart, the old stager, " if we are to sleep at Poissy this night." " Poissy ! " exclaimed Pinel, wearily. " It lies two leagues hence ! " " A day's march for a torpid scribe," answered Beys. " I '11 march against a wine-sack any day," came testily from Pinel's lips. " Pardi, I'll smash an ink-pot now!" cried Beys, doubling his plump fist. " Messieurs ! messieurs ! " prostested Moliere, " you are not tavern brawlers, remember, but illustrious players. Verbum sat sapienti, Pinel. As for you, friend Beys," he continued, proudly tapping the hilt of the first rapier he had ever worn, " a wine-sack is easily pricked." Provident words to a pair of hectors ! The scrivener retreated, the poet recoiled. Peace reigned once more; meantime, the ox-boy placidly yoked his cattle to the chariot. In a manner most courteous, Germain Clerin assisted Madeleine to a seat upon a pile of boxes. Dis playing his urbanity anew in a gracious bow, he gave a helping hand to Genevieve Bejart and Catherine Bourgeois. On this final stage of the day's journey, the palfreys were to be ridden by Trinette Desurlis and Madelon Malingre. Not to be outdone, Moliere held the stirrups for both these captivating girls, and received a recom pensing smile from each. Moreover, Trinette pressed his hand, and when he helped her spring to the saddle, she missed the pommel: a manoeuvre which caused her to fall into his arms, exclaiming with a little cry of fright, " Ah, if you had not been there ! " Perched upon her vantage pile of baggage, Madeleine 104. FAME'S PATHWAY missed not a whit of this coquetry. It played its in tended part, however, for when the little caravan took up its onward march, Moliere walked beside the hussy. Being without a particle of conscience, she had vowed, when he kissed her, that he should do so again, if only to vex Madeleine, whose talents she envied. Artfully she made ready for the onslaught. " The courage of a hero ! " she said softly, " the courtesy of an exquisite ! Rare qualities in one so young ! " " You j est, my lady," Moliere answered modestly yet where is there a young man of one-and-twenty not open to cajolery? "I jest?" protested Trinette. "Indeed, I saw the prowess with which you quelled those brawlers. As for your courtesy, I know it well, since I became its recipient." " My arm but performed a delightful office," he answered laughingly. " I see we must add modesty to your attributes." The girl paused to look down at him from beneath her curl ing lashes. " But you have one very human quality," she added. " And that quality ? " he questioned. "Jealousy!" "A bold charge indeed, without evidence." " Evidence ! " she laughed. " I saw the look that crossed your face when a certain cavalier rode by in the dust of a nobleman's carriage; ah, but you have cause for jealousy, my friend." " Cause ! " he exclaimed. " Can it be you know not the story ? Its telling would enlighten you." THE KING'S HIGHWAY 105 Vainly he sought to turn the conversation into another channel, but she led him gently back to the path of her intent. " Enticed by dreams of a coronet to pin her faith to a libertine, a certain lady who shall be nameless became the dupe of a promise made in lieu of a priest's benedic tion. The day came when her ensnarer was enslaved by younger charms than hers. To save her face, she made pretence of loving a youth, who read her heart no deeper than her smile. Ah, what a deal of scorn can lie beneath a woman's smile, and what a depth of love a woman's heart can hold for her betrayer ! " The traitorous girl paused to watch the flight of her shaft. She saw him wince in silent pain, and smiled. Too deeply hurt to make reply, too chivalrous to let this innuendo pass without protest, he turned away to join Madelon Malingre. He made a show of talking to this other girl; but chancing to look up, he saw Madeleine, swaying to the jolts of the ox-cart. " Ah, no, it is not true, this false girl's tale ! " his faith cried out; and, basking in the clarifying light of love, he walked through the dust far easier of mind; yet the girl whose stirrup he held to aid him in his march remarked his abstraction. Rather than lay bare his heart, he sighed, " Avaunt, thou demon jealousy, avaunt ! " In a trice his spirits rose, and banishing weariness of mind and limb, he trudged along, dreaming of fame, noting the passers-by with keen glance. Now it was a sleek priest, mumbling prayers from a breviary; now a ragged mendicant, his clacking sabots stuffed with straw, his wooden porringer the passport of rascals slung at his girdle. When a fine lady passed in her coach, the sight was more pleasing; or per- 106 FAME'S PATHWAY chance a cavalier with plumes and jingling spurs rode by, to be followed apace by haggling merchants. But the vagabonds he met appealed to him more the vet erans of Rocroy begging their way toward home, the vagrants at the cross-roads, all with hands outstretched. A reeking band of gypsies passed the women and children crowded in a rickety cart, riding three astride upon skinny horses, or tramping the high-road beneath the weight of pots and kettles; the men, with feathers in their frayed felt hats, swinging gaily along, with no more burden to bear than the guns upon their shoulders. A swarthy young fellow of his own age appeared to be the leader of the crew, and as he swaggered by, with a rapier swinging from a tarnished baldrick, he could not help comparing the rascal to himself. Were they not both derelicts on Fortune's sea, both vagabonds without the church's pale? Indeed, save for the dirt, the dif ference between these Romanies and his own sorry car avan was slight. Madeleine, perched upon a throne of baggage, might pass for a gypsy queen, and he, with a feather in his hat, for the chief of her tawny band. Meditating thus, he walked beside La Malingre until they reached the purlieus of a town; then this lady, ex asperated by his silence, spoke. " You are a strange creature," she said : " not a word has passed your lips this half-hour." " I was thinking that humility was the rarest of virtues." " And why so vain a conclusion ? " " Because, barely a year ago, I travelled in the king's suite, where humility is unknown." " The king's suite ! " exclaimed the girl excitedly. " Yes ; during three months of each year my father THE KING'S HIGHWAY 107 makes the royal bed. Being his heir, I replaced him in that function last autumn while the late king and Rich elieu journeyed to Narbonne." " Ah, what an experience ! " sighed Madeleine Malin- gre enviously. " Would that I might taste court life ! " " You might find it gall," he answered thoughtfully. " At least so it proved to the Marquis de Cinq Mars, the king's favourite, arrested for high treason while he tarried at Narbonne." " Ah, but the game he played was well worth while ! " exclaimed the girl. Moliere's face grew sombre. "You would not speak thus had you seen him haunting the king's shadow after the royal presence had been denied him. He knew the implacable cardinal was plotting his downfall, but rather than flee to safety, he induced the king's usher to let him appear each morning at the hour of the levee so that his fellow-courtiers might not learn of his dis grace. For a fortnight he played this sorry farce, hid ing in the shadow of a door while his colleagues made obeisance. Then he was seized, together with his friend De Thou, and dragged to Lyons to die upon the scaf fold. Ah, what refinement of cruelty the vindictive Richelieu displayed ! He was a dying man himself, yet, rather than show Christian mercy to a foe, he had both Cinq Mars and De Thou towed up the Rhone behind his barge so that he might gloat upon their misery whilst his own life ebbed." The young man's brow darkened as he told this tale, and his lips set tightly, for the fate of these fallen favourites had taught him the ingratitude of kings. To Madelon Malingre the tale was engaging. With a woman's reverence for rank, she looked upon this 108 FAME'S PATHWAY comrade who had been to court with a feeling akin to awe, until her woman's curiosity prompted her to ask a blunt question. ' 'T is said in Paris that you renounced your in heritance for our fair Madeleine's sake. Is it true? " " For my own sake, I renounced the right to make the king's bed/' he answered, in a tone of bitterness. " For three months each year, I might have cringed in a pack of royal hounds with a collar about my neck; but I preferred to follow my bent." "Which is, apparently, a certain lady," laughed the girl. " Ah, what a deal of trouble we women create ! " Meanwhile the little caravan halted before the door of an inn, and a crowd of urchins began to hoot and scoff a troupe of actors being fair game for ridicule. CHAPTER II FOREST ADVENTURES THE town was St. Germain-en-Laye ; the inn, a modest hostelry where the footsore longed to tarry. " Four leagues of trudging since the dawn; a day's journey, forsooth ! " whined the neophytes ; but Joseph Bej art, the veteran, scorned such feebleness and held for a tramp through the forest to Poissy. " Bandits lurk in every forest," grumbled Beys. "True," exclaimed George Pinel; "the invalided soldiers of the Due d'Enghien must rob or starve ! " " And Mazarin's tax-gatherers have stripped the fields so bare that the peasants must rob or starve as well," added Bonnenfant. " The bandits who rob actors must st-st-starve per force," stuttered Bej art sententiously. Moliere's argument was more alluring. " At Poissy," he said, " we may bathe in the Seine." Even the most jaded of the company saw the com fort of this. " I hold for Poissy ! " said Beys. " And I as well," said Clerin ; so the day was carried for the onward march. The actresses, meantime, had been too busily engaged in defending their charms to take part in the argument, for, while the actors bandied words, they were besieged by the loiterers about the inn with offers of gallantry and ribald compliment. 109 110 FAME'S PATHWAY Enjoying this sport mightly, Trinette shot many a bold glance into the smickering crowd; but to Made leine, who knew from sad experience the intentions of these idlers, the order to march was a boon. It came after young Moliere had treated his comrades to a cup of cheer. Leaving the village rakes to their dice-cups, the cara van fared on ; but the feet of the actors dragged wearily ; their muscles ached; and as they tramped behind the wheels of their chariot, the only words from their parch ing lips were curses on the stutterer who had beguiled them from a friendly inn. In the cool of the forest, dogs and urchins no longer yelped at their heels ; but even this leafy haven proved a slight blessing. Although a breeze, brisk and fresh, fanned their temples, and deep shadows fell on banks of brilliant moss, four leagues were a day's journey for all these Thespians save Bejart. He alone marched alert. The others loitered pitifully; even the oxen cast longing eyes at the roadside grass; but the way lay ahead, a grey, tapering perspective between two ram parts of green with no apparent end. The whole forest seemed at peace. A sweet smell of woods was in the air, birds sang in the bushes, and the sun kissed the tree-tops; but even Moliere, with a soul for poetry, could only lag wearily. Pretty Madeleine, swaying in the ox-cart, seemed merely a tempter to his tired eyes a wood-nymph, luring him to ruin. Yet the sight of her led him on, though many a time he was minded to plunge into a thicket and flee toward Paris. The caravan was an ill-ordered company now two fagged-out nags on which two ladies rode, a creaking cart, and a straggling line of panting men, with Bejart FOREST ADVENTURES 111 marching in the van, an arquebuse upon his shoulder. Finally, it reached a cross-roads and plunged northeast into a giant growth of trees. Here the road sank be tween two banks of earth, each capped by huge oaks growing so densely that their branches locked overhead in a bower too deep for the sun to penetrate. It seemed as if a cavern had been formed by nature, and the keen-eyed Bejart liked not the aspect, for he heard hoof-beats. These being troublous times, he unslung his arquebuse and shouted a warning to his comrades. Be fore the tired actors could close their ranks, three villainous horsemen galloped around a bend in the road. Not relishing the look of them, Bejart primed his weapon. Being soldiers of fortune inclined to recoup their losses at lansquenet, the riders cocked theirs as well. A meeting with rich merchants had been more to their liking. A troupe of strolling players! worth a scuffle at least. Flushed with the wine of Poissy, they dug spurs into their chargers. The actors paled. The girls on the palfreys screamed in wild terror. Joseph Bejart fired his arque buse. The bullet, speeding wide of its mark, splintered the oxen's yoke; the meek animals, frightened, swerved against a tree; the cart upsetting, Madeleine, her sister, and Catherine Bourgeois were dumped shrieking upon the ground amid bundles and boxes. With a blow from his pistol butt, the rascal at whom Bejart had fired sent the stutterer tumbling into a bank of loose earth ; his comrades charged the caravan. Young Moliere brandished a weapon, but a levelled firearm had him crying for quarter. There were cries to surrender; then it became a chasing of sheep. In a twinkling, actors, fiddlers, and ox-boy stood quaking, with hands uplifted. FAME'S PATHWAY One mustachioed villain mounted guard from his charger's back; another dismounted to rifle the pockets; but for the rogue who had ridden Bej art down, there was no thought of plunder when shapely girls were sprawling on the grass. Leaping from his horse, he ran chuckling toward Madeleine, who was trying to extricate herself from a heap of baggage. Finding himself overlooked, the stutterer rubbed some consciousness into his cracked skull, crawled beneath the overturned cart, and began to reload his weapon. Madeleine was brought ruthlessly to her senses, mean while, by the bully who dragged her to her feet. " You 're a likely wench," the fellow chuckled, as he pinched the roses in her cheeks. She shivered and hung her head. " You pretty bag gage," he continued, and sought to draw her toward him, but she resisted so strenuously that he had to give over. Spying a coil of rope, he seized it and cut a dozen bits of equal length. Blinking his eyes meaningly, he strode toward the actors, who stood trembling beneath a second robber's pistol. White to the lips, Madeleine saw him bind her comrades one by one. All the prisoners being well secured, once more he turned his leering eyes on her. When he seized her wrists, she dropped on her knees and tried to plead. The words died in her throat. Moliere, tugging at his knots, divined the man's pur pose. Filled with unspeakable rage, he stood there helpless, his eyes dilating with hate and terror. Passion however, had so possessed the brute that he did not see lean Bej art poise his weapon. This time the stutterer's aim was truer. His shot was followed by a cry of pain. Groaning, swaying like a broken bough, the scoundrel FOREST ADVENTURES 113 loosened his hold on Madeleine to clinch a pistol, wheel toward Bejart, and fire. The aim of a shattered arm was unsteady, but the shooting not without profit. Startled by the first shot from Bej art's weapon, a patrol of king's foresters had Ibeen scouring the woods for poachers. An arquebuse answered by a pistol ! A battle, morbleu ! thought these preservers of the royal game while charging in hot haste. .Scrambling through a coppice, they reached the road bank. A handful of pinioned men! A pair of miscreants aiding a wounded comrade ! Prescience was not needed to divine that the rogues were cut-throats. " Surrender ! " cried the chief of the foresters. " Sur render, in the king's name ! " Fearing to kill women if they fired, the rescuers clambered down the hillside. Consternation was on the faces of the rogues below, for there was no chance to fight and scarce a chance to flee. Seeing the plight, the ruffian who still sat his horse was off at a gallop. The one left with an injured mate proved no braver. To vault into his saddle was easy enough; to shake off the terrified comrade who grasped the bridle a task more arduous. Seeing the foresters priming their weapons, he was minded to shoot .the wounded man; yet, being not wholly without pity, he seized his collar instead and dragged him to a seat upon the horse's rump. His spurs drew blood from the animal's flanks. His shot at the stutterer flashed in the pan. The woods trembled then to the yelp of the foresters' guns, but a hole through a feathered hat was the only result. Through the smoke, the shaking prisoners saw two FAME'S PATHWAY rogues upon a single horse galloping toward Paris. Save for the losses of their purses, their joy was unqualified. To cut the ropes that bound them was the work of a moment; to thank the rescuers, a matter of some duration. Grateful Madeleine threw her arms about the grizzly leader of the band a veteran of the siege of La Rochelle, an example followed by each actress in the troupe. Meantime, the horse of the wounded man can tered away; thereby depriving these actors of the one lucrative result of their plight. Too many bullets had whizzed past Joseph Bej art's head for him to take count of the predicament; Moliere still trembled with rage; the others were but cravens any way. Their plight was indeed sorry; yet, the dan ger being past, sheer exhaustion made these hapless ones drop panting by the roadside, little caring that an axle of their chariot was broken and their pistoles jingling in the pockets of their despoilers. Even Madeleine was at her wits' end, for she saw the grey-haired chief of the foresters collecting his band to march away. " Sir," she pleaded, " take pity on our miserable lot. We were to pass the night at Poissy, those wretches have taken our last denier." Longing and prayer quavered in her voice. The man surveyed her from head to foot. She had kissed him, and he was not without liking for a pretty face. " Our lodge is hard by," he grunted. " Ah, sir," she cried, with tears in her eyes, " grati tude is a poor word at such a time ! " The oxen were unyoked, the baggage was concealed in a clump of trees. This accomplished, there seemed not a particle of vigour left in all that company; for FOREST ADVENTURES 115 they were bourgeois of Paris, unused to misadventures such as the day's round had brought forth. Now, with the sun still an hour high, they viewed the wreckage of their enterprise with scarce enough ambition alight in them to propel their legs to the forester's lodge. Moliere, the most crestfallen, sought an outcome to their misfortune. Poissy was a town scarce a league away, and money a sore need. There were the nags, on which Trinette and Madelon Malingre still sat; there were two comrades, too, on whom he might count Madeleine and her brother. Often on the Pont Neuf he had seen the buffoons of Bary, the quack, make a crowd of idlers laugh at some rough farce or other. Might not Madeleine, Joseph Bejart, and himself do as much with the yokels of Poissy for coppers enough to take their dej ected company upon another stage ? The plan seemed feasible, so he broached it to Made leine. She, being a girl of resource, entered heartily into it. Long ere the forester's lodge was reached, the scheme was hatched. Being the more tractable of the ladies who rode, Madelon Malingre was dispossessed of her horse for Madeleine's use, while to Beys the entire plan was confided with the injunction that he do his ut most to hold the troupe loyal during the absence of the foragers. The case of the valiant rescuers was more difficult. Having seen an adolescent gleam in their hoary chief's glance, Madeleine knew that his offer of hospi tality contained latent projects; yet she threw herself boldly on his mercy, winning pity for her lot, a promise of food and shelter for her comrades. As Madeleine, her brother, and Moliere dropped stealthily behind their comrades, zeal sparkled in the eyes of all three. Tramping through devious forest 116 -FAME'S PATHWAY ways to the high-road, they found their oxen browsing by the roadside, and the boy who tended them asleep. vRansacking their baggage for some comic costumes, they journeyed on, their undertaking having given them new courage; yet there were slopes to climb and brooks to ford and the matter of a play to be considered. They debated of ways and means, and seemed in doubt till Moliere came forward with a project of his own. If a farce was not at hand, a farce must be constructed, he maintained, after the manner of Scaramouche and his Italians. " Their plays are but frameworks," said he; " the actors' ready wit supplies the lines." "Ay, but the f-f-f ramework ? " protested Bejart. "A scene from Rabelais, a tale from Boccaccio. A play is only an acted story ! " "Ay, but the st-st-story? " whined Bejart. " The first that comes to hand ! Say that tale from the Decameron wherein a jealous husband locks his flighty wife out-of-doors until she, with a ruse of drowning herself in a near-by well, induces him to come forth in search of her, only to find that she has slipped past him in the dark and locked the door on him." " Bah! " said Bejart, " who is to p-p-play the well? " " The well ? " laughed Moliere. " A knife, with which the lady pretends to stab herself; thus must we em broider. You, Bejart, shall be the husband a drunken lout whom Madeleine, your pretty wife, abhors. I shall play a learned doctor from whom you seek advice for the government of your spouse. I shall overwhelm you with hog Latin until you flee in despair; whereupon I shall become Madeleine's lover. You surprise her in my company, then lock her out-of-doors. Pretending to kill herself in despair, she forces you to come forth in search FOREST ADVENTURES 117 of her, only to steal past you and bolt the door. Ap~ pearing as her irate father, I force you to apologise to her for returning home drunkenly at such an unseason able hour a propitious ending to a play we three can act readily." Madeleine listened attentively. She wondered whither this new gallop of his fancy would carry them, but held her counsel lest her doubts should wound him. The qualms of her brother Joseph vanished in his concep tion of a likely part. "I'll p-p-play the role of w-w-what's-his-name ? " he said. "'What's-his-name'?" laughed Moliere. "Daub a beard of charcoal on your chin, and bushy eyebrows on your brow like those of the knaves who robbed us, and dub yourself Smutty Face." " Then the name of our farce shall be ' The Jealousy of Smutty Face '," cried Madeleine gaily. " And since to live with such a brute requires a saintly nature, I will call myself Angelica." " A most appropriate name for so divine a creature," said Moliere, affecting more raillery than he felt. Only a firm resolve to do or perish made him appear so deb onair, for a tide of deep despair was beating at his heart. To return to the shop-bound life he had fore sworn, meant death to his soul ! His motionless eyes told Madeleine that he was playing a part. " Brave lad ! " she murmured, " brave lad ! " CHAPTER III HONEST LAUGHTER As the sun's last rays were gilding the Seine, Moliere, dusty and famished, entered the market-place at Poissy. Behind him rode Madeleine, and by her side tramped Bejart, his arquebuse upon his shoulder, a bandage on his battered head. Although the girl's garments had a touch of city finery, those of her companions looked so dilapidated that the dogs of Poissy barked. Ragamuf fins hooted, too, as this sorry trio halted before the door of the tavern of the Golden Sun, where a group of fat citizens sat tippling. Indeed, so great was the com motion caused by the advent of these wayfarers that the provost of the town strode forth to demand their quality. The plume in this official's hat was crimson as his nose, his cloak as purple as his face. " Your name and business ? " he asked with an air of importance. " I am called Moliere. This lady is Mademoiselle Bejart, famed as a comedienne from Languedoc to Brit tany. The third member of our troupe is her brother, Joseph Bejart, most valiant of actors. Our business is to provide diversion for people of taste and quality be it tragedy, tragi-comedy, comedy, or farce." Seeing a pretty actress gazing at him, the provost jauntily tilted his rapier, and the tip of its scabbard, hitting his broad-brimmed hat, made that article topple forward on his nose in a way so comic that the spec tators laughed uproariously. 118 HONEST LAUGHTER 119 To regain his lost dignity, the official became ruthless. " We want no impious vagabonds in Poissy," he stormed, rectifying the disturbed composure of his hat. " Out of this town, say I ; else I '11 clap you into gaol." Madeleine's wit came to the rescue. " Can such in justice be? " she asked. " If the noble provost of Poissy were here, the far-famed Sieur de-de-de-de . . ." here she hesitated, arching her eyebrows inquiringly. " The Sieur de la Filoutiere," said the hectoring offi cial, with pride. " Precisely ! If the noble Sieur de la Filoutiere were here," she continued, addressing the throng about her, "we should have justice, for in Paris they say that he is the most valiant provost in France." The urchins howled in derision; the burghers snick ered; but the officer, finding himself estimated at his own valuation, acknowledged himself to be this Sieur de la Filoutiere whose fame had spread abroad. " But how am I to believe that you are actors," he questioned, " since you are but three, and have no bag gage? " " Our t-t-troupe is as complete as that of F-f-floridor or Filandre, or any actor who travels," said Bejart, dropping the butt of his weapon on the flagstones with a thud. " If we are but three, it is because we have met m-m-mis fortune." " Ay," answered Moliere, vehemently. " In the forest of St. Germain we were set upon by three armed mis creants and robbed. But for the lucky intervention of a patrol of king's men, we should have been murdered too. Our destitute comrades await our return." " Humph," grunted La Filoutiere, " a likely tale." Madeleine saw the need of further blandishment: 120 FAME'S PATHWAY " Had the brave provost of Poissy been there, we should not have been robbed of our last ecu." "And the knaves who robbed you?" asked La Filou- tiere, dubiously. " Off to Paris with their plunder." " If I mistake not," said the landlady of the tavern, a plump dame with a jolly face, who stood with arms akimbo, listening, " they are the very rogues who diced the afternoon away at my inn with a young gentleman from Paris, only to set upon him when they had lost. They would have had his life, I truly believe, had not the retainers of a grand seigneur, then alighting at my door, rescued the victim from their blows. Alas, the seigneur, seeing my house a brawling-place, fared on without stopping ; while the rogues took to horse without paying their score." " You see," said Moliere, " we are worthy people whose tale is corroborated." With some show of reluctance, the provost admitted as much; whereat Madeleine, whose curiosity was aroused, addressed the landlady: " But the young gentleman from Paris, did he flee as well ? " " Ma foi, no. He drank himself into a stupor, and now sleeps in a chamber overhead. To ensure the pay ment of his score, I have locked up his clothes." Moliere saw an opening. " And to ensure three pen niless actors a supper, will you grant us permission to play in your tap-room ? " " Ma foi, I would," said the landlady, " but, you are only three." " Nevertheless we will play you a farce as side-split ting as any for which Gaultier Garguille or Gros Guil- HONEST LAUGHTER 121 laume was famed. If it be a matter of tragedy, we can be as affected as Bellerose, as blatant as Mondory." " Mondory ! " exclaimed the landlady. " Him you shall not shame, for I was in his troupe until, happening to win the fancy of the keeper of this inn, I abandoned the only life worth living to grow fat in a humdrum call ing. Comedy, forsooth, I love it, and if you can play it, you may sup. But mark you, if you play me not well, my servants shall trounce you ! " A rabbit pie regaled these hungry actors; a flagon of claret dispelled their gloom the beating, however, re mained in abeyance. Soon the tap-room filled with cup- loving burghers. Above the din of laughter and beakers clattering arose the raucous voice of La Filoutiere swear ing that, if these vagabonds made not good with their play, he'd have them all in gaol ! " ' Their play ! ' " Moliere sighed. " A mere frame work of mine own contriving; yet it must make these toping citizens laugh, else the staves of the domestics and La Filoutiere's gaol ! " Bejart secured a piece of charcoal to blacken his lip; Madeleine, a shining porringer, to serve as a mirror for the blushes she would paint. The meanwhile, Mo liere pondered tremulously the three roles he was to enact. He had seen Guillot-Gorju play the comic doc tor, Gros Guillaume the testy bourgeois. For the lover's part, he needed only the inspiration of Madeleine's glance. Still, thirty-odd burghers sat in judgement upon him, and needing the reassurance of his own voice, he protested that he had no costume for the lover's role. The generous landlady gave him the clothes of the young gentleman from Paris. These being of the latest fash- FAME'S PATHWAY ion, would prove a feature of the entertainment, Moliere vowed. So far, so good; a stage was needed. " Remove this table and these chairs," he called to some varlets crowding the kitchen door. " Please, you gentlemen in front, not quite so close. Good! We are ready, now." By the glow of the candles he saw the faces he must animate; a raw lad without experience in the art of making honest people laugh. His hands grew cold to their finger tips; yet pride sustained him, though the room swam before him. " Our play is called ' The Jealousy of Smutty Face/ " he said. "In it you will learn that he who weds a co quette must rue it. The scene is a street. This door to the kitchen represents the entrance to a house. The one to yonder yard leads to a public square. Now, mes sieurs, I ask your kind attention to our comedy." His voice rang steady, and when he withdrew, Made leine kissed him tenderly, her praise for his harangue giving him self-confidence the thing he most needed. Her brother was taking the stage. She was mortally tired, yet she knew there must be no lagging in this comedy of theirs. With ears strained for the effect, she listened. "I m-m-must avow," Be j art began to stutter, "that I am the m-m-most unhappy of m-m-men. Instead of c-c-comforting me and doing as I wish, my w-w-wife delivers me to the devil at least t-t-twenty times a day." His charcoaled face was comic, his stammering droll, yet not a burgher laughed. " Still she m-m-must be p-p-punished," he continued, struggling to dispel the gloom. " Suppose I should k-k-kill her ? A worthless idea, since I should be hanged. HONEST LAUGHTER 123 If I put her in gaol, the v-vixen would get out with her m-m-master-key. What the d-d-devil shall I do? Ah, here comes a learned doctor; I will ask his advice." This was Moliere's cue, and his heart beat a wild tattoo of fear. Madeleine tiptoed aside. As he passed her, she pressed his hand and smiled encouragement. A doc tor's hat was perched upon his curls ; horn-bowed spec tacles adorned his nose. His stride, his pompous air, had the audience laughing in a trice. " What, you ill-tutored blockhead ! " he cried, with a withering glance. " How dare you address me without removing your hat? Without observing rationem loci, temporis et persons? " Bej art's legs trembled like aspens, while the young actor extemporised, each inflection, each gesture, por traying an outraged pedant to the life. Madeleine saw with delight that Moliere was making an audience laugh with his pantomime and gesture, with the very volubility with which he spoke. Indeed, so true to life was his characterisation that she caught herself wondering whether he were not actually a pedant from the Latin quarter. His wit was ready, too, for when his opponent averred that he was a gallant man, he asked if he knew whence came that expression. " Whether it c-c-comes from St. Germain or P-p- poissy, matters little to me," answered Bej art. Moliere's retort was apt. " Learn that the expression ' gallant man ' is derived from ' elegant ' by taking the ' g ' and the ' a.' That makes ' ga.' By doubling the ' 1 ' and j oining an ' a ' to the last letters, we have ' gal lant ' ! The addition of ' man ' makes it ' gallant man ' ! But once more, for whom do you take me ? " 124 FAME'S PATHWAY " For a d-d-doctor," stuttered the other. " Learn that I am not only one doctor, but one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten times a doctor ; " a repartee followed by ten reasons for his doctorship, each the source of loud guffaws. Bej art the veteran, played like a tyro. At every sally, his young rival had him at his wits' end. When he of fered to pay for the mock doctor's advice, he was over whelmed with this diatribe : " Do you take me for a man who thinks money omnip otent? A man pledged to profit? A sordid soul? Learn, my friend, that should you offer me a purse filled with pistoles, and place this purse in a costly box, this box in a precious case, this case in a marvellous chest, this chest in a wonderful cabinet, this cabinet in a magnificent room, this room in a luxurious suite, this suite in a stately castle, this castle in a peerless citadel, this citadel in a famous city, this city on a fertile isle, this isle in an opulent province, this province in a flourishing monarchy, and this monarchy in the entire world, and then offer me the entire world with this flourishing monarchy, opulent province, fertile isle, famous city, peerless citadel, stately castle, luxurious suite, magnificent room, wonderful cabinet, marvellous chest, precious case, and costly box containing your purse filled with pistoles, I should care as little about you and your money, as that ! " Snapping his fingers contemptuously, Moliere made a haughty exit, with his academic robes tucked imperiously behind him. Honest laughter echoed through the tap and his heart leaped with delight. He had swayed an audience, tasted the sweets of triumph! Unbounded seemed his joy until he reappeared to play the lover. His HONEST LAUGHTER 125 acting lacked spontaneity then; the audience was un responsive. " He is shapely enough for the part," thought Made leine, " his bearing sufficiently noble ; but his nose is too prominent, his lip too thick, and when he tries to speak tenderly, his voice is harsh and monotonous." Alas, in the midst of a love passage, he hiccoughed, the audience bursting into unseemly laughter. But for an untoward incident, the cudgels of the servants would have fallen on his back. Luckily, the young Parisian, whose clothes he wore, burst into the room in a tower ing rage, just as the landlady began to fidget in her seat. Attired in white under-breeches and shirt, the new comer was mistaken for a pierrot having part in the comedy, till he began to belabour a servant with a ten nis racquet. " Soul of a dog," he cried, " what hast thou done with my garments ? " Shrieking with pain, the fellow pointed to Moliere, kneeling at Madeleine's feet. " By the beard of a hangman, they clothe yon buf foon ! " exclaimed the hotspur, his racquet descending upon the back of the nearest spectator. " Learn, thou sot, that I am the Sieur de . . ." cried this new victim. Before he could pronounce the euphonious name of La Filoutiere, his spurred heels slipped under him. In falling, the worthy provost up set a table laden with beakers. Her best glassware broken, the landlady rent the air with piteous cries, while the young man in the underclothing hewed a path with his appalling racquet. Madeleine and Bejart fled in terror to the kitchen, but Moliere held his ground val- 126 FAME'S PATHWAY iantly. He had taken full count of the fray, and seizing a chair, prepared to crush his assailant. " Have off my garments/' said the cause of the tu mult, " or by Heaven . . ." The uplifted racquet did not descend, nor did the chair either, for the aggressor's eyes had met his opponent's firm pair. " Jean-Baptiste ! " exclaimed the one. " Claude Chapelle ! " cried the other. The friends thus strangely met embraced each other; but their j oy was short-lived. La Filoutiere and the out raged citizens of Poissy were advancing upon the enemy, the provost with his rapier drawn, his followers brandish ing their canes. The lot of Chapelle might have been, indeed, disastrous, had not Moliere stood to his defence. " Friends," he shouted, his voice at its highest pitch, " this young gentleman was set upon in this very room by three bloodthirsty knaves, then robbed of his clothes. He deserves pity, not violence. Moreover, he is the son of a magistrate of Paris, entitled to the law's protec tion!" Though he might badger a troupe of strolling players, La Filoutiere had an underling's respect for rank. Those words, " a magistrate of Paris," turned his anger to wholesome awe. Seeing the provost cringing, Chapelle stepped into the breach. " Landlady," he shouted, " an octave of your best Burgundy! Let all drink the health of my actor friend!" In the prospect of liberal cheer, the anger of the crowd was stayed, the riot turned to merriment. Amid boisterous applause, the comedy came to a happy con clusion in the discomfiture of jealous Smutty Face HONEST LAUGHTER 127 Chapelle's Burgundy making even the landlady com plaisant to Moliere's shortcomings in the role of lover. When weary Madeleine went to her attic room, her steps were dogged by village rakes, whose fawning she could only stop by a sound box bestowed on the ear of the most ribald and the slamming of her door upon his be sotted comrades. In the tap-room below, Chapelle and Moliere touched glasses, the wine and the joy of this chance meeting allaying the young actor's fatigue for the moment. His friend's nap, too, and subsequent fray had sobered him somewhat, so the pair exchanged tales of their day's adventures. A clandestine visit to a fair chatelaine of the neigh bourhood was the cause of Chapelle's presence at Poissy a visit ruthlessly cut short by the return of the lord of the manor. The first weapon to hand being the racquet which had played so lively a part in the evening's rout, he had felled the irate spouse ere the latter could draw, and made good his escape through a window. Pursued as far as Poissy, he had taken refuge in this inn to await an opportunity of avenging himself upon this ill-bred husband in a manner becoming a gentleman. At this narration, Moliere laughed heartily. " But tell me," he said, "how came you embroiled with three swashbucklers ? " " Lansquenet is a game of great finesse. My skill irritated those rogues. Being one to three, I was at a disadvantage." " At no more disadvantage than I and my troupe when we were robbed by those self-same rascals." Filling his glass to drink death to them, Moliere told his friend the story of his own spoliation and subsequent gloom. 128 FAME'S PATHWAY " Since my skill at lansquenet was the cause of your being pillaged, by all the ethics of Plato, this ill-gotten gain belongs to you ! " cried Chapelle,. drawing a well- filled purse from the bosom of his shirt and emptying the contents on the table. Moliere played longingly with the shimmering gold pieces, letting them trickle slowly through his fingers. " No, my friend, I cannot take your money," he said at last; " no, not even as a loan." " Pardi, you shall," cried the rake, with thick-tongued ardour, " or, by the greed of Mazarin, I '11 thrash you ! " And saying this, he staggered toward a band of free drinkers to toast them and lead them in song, until he fell stupefied beneath a table. Wearily Moliere picked up the pistoles. When the last one jingled among its fellows, he placed the purse containing them in his pocket, resolved that on the mor row they should be returned to their owner. He could not find it in his heart to despoil a tipsy friend nay, even though his wretchedness condoned it. But he was too overwrought and tired to argue even with himself. His brain swam with fatigue; the tap room, reeking with the dregs of wine, danced before his hollow eyes ; the burghers, drinking at the tables, became red-faced goblins, whose laughter taunted him the vagabond, the outcast. Yet even they faded into a dark ness too deep for his weary glance to penetrate. His head fell forward on the table and lay there, until the hostess of the tavern led him, drunken with sleep, in pity to a bed. CHAPTER IV TRINETTE DRAWS A WEAPON KNOWING the stress Moliere had undergone, gentle Made leine implored the servants of the inn to leave with na ture the task of rousing him. When he awoke, the sun had neared the meridian. For a time he lay quite still, feeling life a joyous thing, until the sight of the cock loft where he had slept recalled the wretched events that had brought him there. In truth, he had beguiled eleven hapless beings from the Paris of their birth ; and they had been set upon and robbed. These facts were clear enough; likewise, the certainty that he must find a means to end their plight. Moreover, there was the matter of the pistoles. To plunder a tipsy friend was to class himself with the cut- purses who plied their trade before his father's shop! Indeed, his duty was clear enough! Presently he arose and dressed himself going straightway to the tap-room in quest of Chapelle. To his amazement, the lad had gone. With ill-con cealed delight, the hostess told him of the sword-play in a neighbouring wood and of Chapelle's flight to avert the vengeance of the laws against duelling, for he had taught his inconsiderate enemy that boors with pretty wives should either be complaisant or learn to fence. Although the pistoles could not be returned, yet Mo liere vowed he would not touch his friend's money. Madeleine, to whom he told the tale, argued vainly that 129 130 FAME'S PATHWAY Chapelle's flight was a godsend. As for Bejart, his logic was worthy a casuist. " The lad is a rake," he said; " therefore in diverting his money from its natural bent, we uphold a n-n-noble art at the cost of vice, for, if these p-p-pistoles were still his, some tap-house would possess them ere night fall." Still Moliere remained obdurate, until, having told the landlady that he was without means to pay her score, that cordial dame shed new light upon the matter. " My score was paid by your comedy," said she. " But the octave of Burgundy ? " he asked. " Your boisterous friend paid for that." " But how, since I have his purse ? " " The purse you have he won from the knaves who robbed you. His own I had taken from the pocket of the small-clothes in which you played the lover's role so badly." " Badly ! " he exclaimed with petulance. " Yes, badly ! But I swear by my hope of salvation that your pedant would put Guillot-Gorju to shame! Comic roles are your forte, young man." Moliere was for expostulating, till Madeleine, who knew the hostess spoke truly, silenced him. " Tush, lad ! your part is not to bandy words. We have need of a smith and a wheelwright." " Ay, and a hamper of v-v-viands," babbled the stut terer. " For which we pay," said Moliere stiffly, the land lady's aspersions upon his acting making him accept Chapelle's windfall ; but only as a debt, mind you, which he meant to discharge. Long ere his wounded pride was soothed, a wheelwright was forthcoming; likewise, a vil lage smith and a peasant's cart, in which they, the vict- TRINETTE DRAWS A WEAPON 131 uals, Bejart, and himself were trundled upon their way. Madeleine rode her palfrey. When the wreck of the chariot was reached, she left the handicraftsmen to im provise a stithy, her brother and Moliere to direct their toil. Hastening through the forest, she found her male companions huddled forlornly about a blaze of fagots. When she told them of the happy issue of the farce so deftly played before the citizens of Poissy, they grum bled ; not at the good fortune it had brought, but because they had played no part therein. A recital of Moliere's shortcomings as the lover might readily have stilled their envy, but being a loyal girl, she extolled his triumphs in the role of pedant till their chagrin was manifest. They were indeed an angry lot, for it appears that, while their fair comrades slept snugly in the forester's lodge, they had been relegated to the dank ground of the forest. Had they been of sterner stuff, their hoary host would have been paid for his invidious hospitality with cudgels. As it was, they departed in silence, while dashing Trinette and comely Madelon Malingre kissed the forester for his cheer. Followed by two pretty girls a-horseback and three more afoot, these testy actors and their hired fiddlers went on into the wood. Finding the oxen already in the yoke and the baggage installed by Moliere and Bejart, they journeyed on more blithely, to the moaning of the wood-doves, to the thundering-down of water through the dells. The sun came into the forest and made it a place so fragrant that, when they had halted for a breathing spell, Moliere was constrained to cry out that he preferred these sweet-scented woods to Paris and her smells. " Morbleu ! " grumbled Beys, " when I think of the 132 FAME'S PATHWAY shop of Ragueneau, the pastry cook, my nostrils curse me for a fool." " Then think of the Bastille and its stenches," cried the exultant youth. " A better dwelling-place than this damp forest ! " grunted Beys in retort. Suavely Trinette Desurlis lowered her voice and whis pered to Moliere. " Think of the perfumes of Paris, think of the redolent nobles. Ah, if I were a man, no gentleman-in-waiting should look on me with scorn ! " A flush of anger tinged his cheek. " A woman's wea pon is her tongue," he sneered. Her dark eyes flashing a challenge, she seized the rapier hanging from his baldrick and drew it from its sheath. Her free arm curled upward. " On guard ! " she laughed. " Parry this thrust, and then insult a woman." The naked sword sped towards his breast. "Booby!" she jeered, as he recoiled in trepidation. " I '11 not kill you ; I '11 but teach you how to kill an other." The point of her rapier rose ; the hilt was deftly lowered, her tiny foot stamping defiance. " Learn, Mas ter Goose, this thrust in prime; this tierce in seconde; this quarte in seconde, this tierce; this quarte! " With each of these imaginary thrusts, her left arm dropped lightly to her hip, her slender body turning till the lunging foot was in a line with knee and shoulder, and her sword-arm at its utmost length the manner of attack then taught by masters of the blade. Moliere's anger became unwilling admiration, for in this lithe fencer he saw a beauty and grace of a vexing kind. " With these attacks and their parries," she continued, " you need know but a feint or two to be a match for any perfumed noble in the realm." TRINETTE DRAWS A WEAPON 133 Saying this, she sheathed his sword, whispering so that only he might hear: "Don't be a fool; the day of dupes is past ! " He paled but did not answer. To Madeleine, this nimble display had been but the trick of a shameless quean, and when the applause which greeted it subsided, her indignation so far mastered her that she exclaimed with a petulance uncommon to her nature: " Of a truth, the fondling of some sword player ! " Now Trinette well knew how vulnerable is jealousy and secretly rejoiced. " Bad temper ill becomes a cast- off baggage ! " she sneered, her words moving Moliere to shame that being her intent. Fearing a shrewish brawl, he implored her to silence. "I quarrel, when you wish it not?" she murmured with her tenderest smile. " Indeed, I am not a fish wife." Her glance said plainly, "Choose, Moliere: the vixen or the amourette." To his fair mind, Madeleine's attack appeared unwar ranted, the rebuke well merited. " Trinette has done you no harm," he said to her in a voice quite determined. " It is meet that you ask her pardon." In that slender creature with a cunning deeper than her raven eyes and blacker, too Madeleine saw a mor tal enemy; but, being the offender, she knew that in Moliere's sight she appeared unlovely. To acquiesce in his demand was clearly wise, and she did so with a show of far more equanimity than her heart contained. " Com rades," she said to the onlookers, "jealousy of Tri- nette's skill has made me use unseemly words. I crave her pardon." " Well spoken ! " cried Beys. 134j FAME'S PATHWAY " A fair-minded girl ! " chimed Nicolas Bonnenf ant. Seeing the sympathy turning to her enemy, Trinette exclaimed with her merriest laugh: "One shoe of the quarrel is on my foot ! " " Then let the warring maids embrace ! " said George Pinel. It is one thing to kindle angry fires in a woman's heart, another to have them out. They embraced, it is true, yet the loathing in the breast of each was apparent in the spite that flashed from eye to eye. Madeleine's sister, thinking to dispel the war clouds, said pleasantly : " In truth, Trinette's grace and skill should make us all envious." But these adroit words were marred by Madelon Ma- lingre, who had no liking for Trinette. " Grace ! " she said, " you should see Marotte Beaupre in a bout. The poesy of grace is she." This praise for the leading lady of the Marais Theatre aroused a new tempest in the breast of the fencer. " Ma rotte Beaupre ! " she scoffed, her dark eyes flashing with contempt. " A cow, forsooth ! " La Malingre hurled back defiance. "A cow, indeed! Peste ! Then thou art a camel ! " To this insult so Gallic, Trinette responded in the manner of the animal she really resembled, for, with panther-like swiftness, she sprang upon her adversary. But Madelon Malingre would not accept a trouncing from any lass. For a trice, she gave back slaps as hard as any she took. Brazen words flew about; blows rained blindly; hair was dishevelled, dresses torn! Luckily, Bejart was slaking his thirst. Seeing these fair comrades disporting themselves like viragoes, he cut the Gordian knot of their affray. To drench the pair A scalded cat fears cold water ' ' TRINETTE DRAWS A WEAPON 135 with the contents of his bucket appeared to him a Chris tian duty; to accompany the sousing with apt words, mere charity; so, while he soaked the jades soundly, he stammered forth this mollifying proverb : " A scalded cat fears cold water ! " Hailed with j eers, the dripping damsels emerged shiv ering from their bath to revile the stutterer with the name of nearly every guest of Noah, till, shamed by ridicule, they slunk away to nurse their rage. Seeing cruel drops dripping from the tip of Trinette's pretty chin, Moliere resolved to comfort her. She had been twice affronted without warrant, he argued an in justice, most assuredly; so gallantly he threw his cloak about her bedraggled dress. " Of a truth, it was un kind," he said, " this pitiless baiting of you." She looked up strangely and spoke in a thrilled voice : " Ah, if you have pity, 't is all I ask." Beneath her dripping hair, he saw her face flushed, beautiful, ardent; but in the shadow beyond he saw an other face, pale and beseeching. " I do sympathise," he whispered almost fervently, for, without warning, the witchery of this girl's glance held him fascinated. But seeing in the frank blue eyes beyond a look that shamed him, he added with some coolness, " Surely, one so able in defence hath scant need of sympathy." Long and fervidly she gazed at him. " Ah, Moliere," she said at last, " true sympathy springs only from true love; all else is but prattle." " Prattle ! " he said, evading the challenge of her eyes. " Since you will not have compassion, pray accept admiration for your sword-play." She answered him shamelessly. " I have some skill at fence because, once, I loved a fencer a master 136 FAME'S PATHWAY swordsman, I might say truly. Your Madeleine's wit divined as much." There was no heart's cry of injured womanhood in her words; no appeal for pity; no entreaty; but merely a bold admission to one without the right to ask it. Seek ing to fathom this brazenness, he laughed: " Indeed a master, since he taught you to love as well as to fence ! " " Sacristie," said she, " he only taught me the way to love." Pausing, she looked at him through lowered lids, her eyes shining softly beneath them. " He was the first, Moliere. There must ever be a first, as you know full well." " True love is not built upon a ruin," he said ve hemently. " On the contrary," she laughed, with a meaning he did not fail to grasp, " it should arise like a phoenix from the ashes of a hateful flame ! " " A fit bird to symbol love," he answered coldly, for this time she had overshot her mark ; " a fit bird, indeed, since when it nests, it burns itself that it may come forth ready to be burned again. But why not a parrot, to prate of love's triumphs, or a hen, to cackle loudly its results?" The oxen had long since caught their breath ; and the actors, theirs too, for that matter. " F-f-f orward march ! " cried Bej art, marshalling the band; and, in a tone of raillery, he added for the benefit of his young comrade and the girl beside him, " F-f -for ward, ye triflers ! " Heedless of the stutterer's slur, Trinette's eyes showed an eagerness to repay Moliere's scorn of her. " No cackling hen nor prating parrot am I," she said with TRINETTE DRAWS A WEAPON 137 wilful insolence as she stepped forth, " but a vampire to suck thy blood." He winced at these words till the prick of them van ished in wonder at one so fair, so turbulent, so mystical. They went their separate ways: he, to make some meas ure of peace with Madeleine ; she, to watch him furtively, for she had set her wanton's heart upon him. CHAPTER V A NEW DOMAIN IN the prime of the afternoon, Moliere, followed by his shabby company, re-entered the market-place of Poissy. Bells sounding the hour of Nones made the air mellow with their tolling; and at the Golden Sun, a jolly hostess gave greeting. Even the dogs wagged their scraggy tails, for so widespread had the fame of this young stroller's farce become that all Poissy bade him welcome. True, La Filoutiere tilted his rapier pom pously, but he uttered rro protest. When the idlers who sat dicing before the tavern hailed Madeleine and her pretty comrades with loose flattery, he even smiled affably beneath his terrible moustache. But the sojourn in friendly Poissy was barely long enough for the smiths to complete the tinkering begun in the forest. Indeed, time pressed ere the fair at Rouen should open. Triel, where the actors proposed to pass the night, was well nigh two leagues away. They quaffed, however, to the hostess of the Golden Sun, Mo liere expostulating anew that serious acting was his bent. " Because I had not a sou in my pocket," said he, " I played a farce yestereve; but I am no jack-pudding by trade." She answered him thus : " A goat must browse where he is tethered." Those who stood listening began to titter; but the lad 138 A NEW DOMAIN 139 was too thoroughly in earnest to be silenced, a true pas sion burning within him. " Acting is a noble art/' he persisted, " only when its intent is noble." " Heaven hath given thee a comic mask/' replied his merry opponent. " Play tragedy, and thou'lt stand as still as a crane on one leg praying for fame to hunt thee out with cross and banner ! Be the turkey of farce, my friend, for it is thy natural bent, and be it ere the field- larks drop roasted into thy mouth." Vainglory, the adolescent vice, lashed him into a white fume. " A turkey of farce ! " he cried with vehemence, " to strut and gobble that geese may laugh ! Nay, I prefer to stand my life out on one leg a serious-minded crane ! " " Calm thyself," trilled the hostess. " Put water in thy wine." " Yes, Moliere, calm yourself/' said Madeleine, with a restraining hand upon his shoulder. Ashamed at having tilted phrases with so unfeeling a foe, the lad sought an honourable exit from the lists. " Adieu, madame," he answered good-naturedly, " I see I cannot content Everyman and his father too; but I '11 drink the sea and all its fishes ere I am false to my ideals." His ambition was not to be quelled by a few proverbs. Of a truth, how could he, a bourgeois of Paris, become a buffoon, he asked himself, as he tramped in silence behind the ox-cart. To enact tragedy, or even tragi comedy, many a young man as well born as he had gone upon the stage; morover, the late king had decreed that the profession of acting was disparaging to no man. Yet, a farce was but a sop to a rabble, the bait of the charla- 140 FAME'S PATHWAY tan; truly, a vast gulf lay between the serious-minded actor and the mime a gulf too wide for him to bridge. Meditating thus, he reached the river bank. To load the oxen, cart, and horses in a ferry was a work of much uproar; so, for the time being, his reflections were dis turbed. Soon the lubberly craft began its slow voyage across the Seine. Leaning upon the bulwarks, he lis tened to the lapping of the waves, to the creaking of the windlass. His father might disown him, he mused again, and the church put a ban upon him; yet his calling was worthy so long as its aims were worthy. But Madeleine was meditating too, though her thoughts were at cross purposes with his. While the sunlight danced upon the ripples, and the cool river re freshed her, she thought of the idyllic day when he had poured forth his heart to her. They were of one mind then. The stage had been a temple in the halcyon days of Greece ! She was to be the high priestess in a mod ern fane he, her oracle! " Ah, what a dream was there ! " she sighed. " Yet Aristotle was right, ' A young man cannot be perfectly wise.' " In reality, here was a young man with a talent for merriment courting Melpomene in vain. The hostess of the Golden Sun spoke truly, Heaven had given him a comic mask. Long stood she there in the sunlight with her arm on the railboard of the barge, gazing into the wind swept river, trying hard to reconcile her love with the dangers besetting it. The sweetness of her life had be gun to be bitter; for Trinette Desurlis stood between her and happiness. Already there were whispers among her comrades ; there were shrugs ; there were titters. Ah, A NEW DOMAIN 141 how distant seemed an island dense with beauty, and a day when she had languished in the fragrant air! When the little company disembarked upon the north ern bank, the afternoon was well on the wane ; yet a two- hours' tramp lay before them. Bejart unslung his arque- buse and glanced ominously ahead: the sun cast slanting shadows, but the way was straight and clear without cave or coppice where bandits might lurk. Moliere began merrily to hum a tune of his tavern days. As he trod past field and meadow with the breath of the afternoon upon his face, nature thrilled him with ecstasies denied those who dream not. It was all very fair, this nomad's life; fair to tramp on a straight high way; fair to listen to the creaking wheels; fair to watch the peasants toiling in the fields ; fair to greet each hum ble passer-by; for he had come into a new domain. Madeleine, alas, found neither rest nor comfort there. To her, it was a turbulent domain. The gauntlet had been thrown to her, and in that rough-and-ready age of love there could be no courteous parleying before swords were crossed. Even now, as the west wind came sighing its way through the lowlands, and Moliere's poet's blood began to quicken with exultant thoughts, she saw Trinette turn her sloe-black eyes shoulderward and halt the gait of her palfrey. Being afoot, she has tened her step and reached her lover's side ere the hussy could waylay him. " Dear," she said, " how fair the day is ; as fair, al most, as when we built our temple on a fragrant isle! Look ; yonder soars a skylark ! " " Yes, Madeleine ; and a hateful city lies leagues away, just as it did when we lay among the flowers, planning our enterprise." 142 FAME'S PATHWAY " Love's witchery was in the air that day," she sighed, looking up wistfully. "And I was a foolish boy/' he said, a joyous tremor running through him. " Yes, a foolish boy/' she repeated gravely. " The world will never pardon you." " Nor priest shrive me," he laughed. " You mean that to run counter to your father's will was an evil act ? " she answered with a slightly height ened colour, for she detected a tone of irony in his voice. " Were there no evil in the world, there could be no good to come out of it," was his reply, spoken scorn fully. For a moment she gazed thoughtfully at him ; then her blue eyes shone with a sanguine light. " Ah, Moliere, good shall come out of it ! No one with your courage can fail utterly." He took her hand and kissed it, his face lighting up with a look of eagerness. " Dear Madeleine, if you have faith, I can fly to the stars ! " " Take care lest you fly with waxen wings too near the sun." His brow darkened. " You mean," he said coldly, " that because I am not gifted I may not soar ? " " No, Moliere, I was thinking of our enterprise. Ten hapless beings, dependent on you and me! Chapelle's livres will not last long should luck turn against us. Is it not wise to make our way gradually in a sure path? Ah, my friend, it is so easy to fall from a pedestal ! " Her lowered voice had been soft and sympathetic. " And the sure path ? " he queried, his resentment fading for the moment. A NEW DOMAIN 143 " The little farce with which you made the burghers in the tap-room laugh." His glance quickly turned into a look of pain. " You, too, would have me the turkey of farce," he said, turning his thoughtful eyes away lest her glance should make him waver, for his ideals were at war with his desires. Indeed, how often had he stood upon the Pont Neuf and laughed! How often had Montfleury's grandiose man ner failed to stir him ! She saw him hesitate. "Your pedant was a living man," she said. " Is not a farce such as we played in the tap-room a truer mirror of life than bombastic tragedy ? " " Ah, how could I look dear old Gassendi, my master, in the face, were I to descend to a plane so low?" he answered in a tone of despair. Her look grew eager; her eyes shone and were clear. " Corneille despises not comedy ; else he would not have written ' The Liar.' His Dorante is a human part a role for an actor of talent." " Dorante ! " he shrugged, " a mere blunderhead a shuffler, whose lies are too transparent to deceive ! " She was not to be veered from her purpose. " He is a likeable fellow nevertheless. Ah, what a tribute to the master to play ' The Liar ' at Rouen, his birth place, where it has never been seen, since it is as yet unprinted ! Through the friendship of Marotte Beaupre, I obtained, unknown to you, the permission of the Marais players to enact it in the provinces, and I have the manuscript. Is that not a triumph indeed ? " " Yes, Madeleine," he said ; " and a word of praise from Corneille would be worth much to our enterprise." She was tempted to smile at this sudden venality; 144 FAME'S PATHWAY she had deliberately laid a snare for him, and gradually she led him there. "Yet, how may we cast this comedy ? " she mused. " Beys would play Geronte, of course; brother Joseph, Cliton; but Dorante, the part you despise, dare we trust it to Clerin ? " Her arched brows had a questioning look. He was not long in answering. " Nay, Madeleine, I '11 play the part," he said, a tinge of jealousy apparent in his voice. Thus a refractory lad was led in the way of his apti tude. Once headed thither, he became quite tractable. Moreover, he began to amplify " The Jealousy of Smutty Face," so as to make of it an abiding sop for the rabble. To shorten the love scene he had played so badly, required the utmost adroitness on Madeleine's part. An unlocked for incident, however, did more than her strategy or tenderness to make him realise her worth and another's wantonness. In the purlieus of Triel, the little company passed a turbid duck-pond. The way being narrow, the side of the road began to give beneath the weight of the ox cart. Joseph Bejart dropped his weapon, and calling to his comrades for assistance, bent his shoulder to the slipping wheel. Moliere, being with Madeleine in the wake of the caravan, could lend no aid, but Pinel and Clerin tugged at the spokes with Bejart, while Bonnen- fant goaded the oxen and Beys chirped lustily. In a trice the danger was over, but it left the stutterer pant ing by the roadside. Following upon her palfrey, Trinette saw the man who had drenched her mopping his brow by the side of a muddy water. Revenge was sweet to her, so, with a taunting laugh, she curled her whip about the horse's A NEW DOMAIN 145 withers. Impelled by the lash's sudden sting, the ani mal sprang forward at a bound Bejart alone between him and the brink. " Out of the way, thou clod-poll ! " cried Trintete, her wicked eyes flashing. To jump or to be trampled beneath the hoofs, was the stutterer's sole choice; so he leaped from the bank, and stumbling, fell headlong into the pond. There was a splash, and then a wild to-do among the water-fowl a scurrying of geese, a hurried flight of ducks. Amid angry quacks and hisses and the flapping of wings, Bejart, bedraggled, crawled up the bank, pursued in his sorry flight by a sibilant gander who pecked his lean calves and beat him with lusty pinions till he cried out in pain. Jeers greeted him, and when he turned upon his feathered enemy, Trinette would have ridden him down again, had not Moliere, who had hastened to the scene of the tumult, seized her bridle. " Stop ! " he said, " enough is enough ! " " Withhold me not ! " she cried, raising her whip to strike his extended arm; but the lash fell harmlessly. " You ! " she sighed, the fury of her glance changing to a look that told plainly of an awakening passion. " Ah, Moliere, withhold me not for ever ! " " My lady, you are free," he said, loosening her bridle rein; then, with mock suavity, he swept his hat against his breast and turned away, for the look the bedizened girl gave him destroyed the charm of her more thoroughly than her shameless revenge upon Bejart or the shrill, wanton laughter which rang in his ears. " Milksop ! Baby in leading strings ! " were the words 146 FAME'S PATHWAY she hissed, and for a moment her eyes blazed malevo lently, till feeling it wise to conceal her humiliation, she turned a smiling face on Bejart. " Never wake a sleeping cat," she laughed. The stutterer stood shaking the water from his gaunt body. " I'll make thee pay for this, thou drab," he cried, his fist doubling. But Madeleine's gentle voice stayed his wrath. " Tush, brother, tush. The lass but took a meet revenge for the ducking you gave her." These words and the laughter of his comrades made him realise that anger ill became one in his ludicrous state; so, picking up his arquebuse forthwith, he jour neyed on in silence. Exquisitely severe, albeit gentle, Madeleine had re buked her brother in a way so refined that Moliere, shocked by Trinette's vulgarity, drew his steps nearer to this lovable girl. They walked in the cool of the fad ing day, and by the last splendid rays of the sun, he saw her sweet face beneath the coiled masses of her reddish hair. In an ecstasy of tenderness, he reached out a hand to her, though he felt an ache of shame as well, for, in taking Trinette's part against her, he knew that he had hurt her bitterly. But she, glorified by the look he gave her, forgot the injury in the hope that his faith was abiding. She took his hand, nor did her eyes refuse him. "Ah, my dear love, Madeleine," he whispered, as they tarried behind their comrades, " this day has taught me your worth; but it has made me fear." " You should know now that I adore you," she mur mured; then in the hush that falls when the sun first sinks to sleep, they kissed and comforted one another; A NEW DOMAIN 147 for Love was awake and darting between them, though none saw him save a single star. Thus the day wore to its ending, and other days as well, these lovers and their little band journeying on without further mishap. Now playing at friendly tav erns, or in some grange or tennis-court; now rehearsing by the roadside, or reciting verses as they tramped the high-road, they reached in good time the capital of Normandy, fair Rouen by the Seine there to set up their trestles and make their bid for fame. CHAPTER VI FOND DREAMS REALISED THROUGH streets leading to the porte Bouvreuil, and the gate at the end of the rue Beauvoisine, all forms of Rouen's poverty and cheating fared gaily, for the day of St. Romain dawned crisp and clear. Beyond the ramparts, two streams of cunning and misery met - cripples, quacks, mountebanks and mumpers; some on crutches or bent by packs ; some hobbling with the aid of sticks for in that grotesque flood of humanity marched the cheats of Normandy. In a field beneath the tower where Jeanne d'Arc had languished two centuries before, this army of rascality in rags and tatters halted. There, since the dawn, up roar had reigned; a tumult of hucksters' cries and toot ing horns, of trilling balladists and beating drums for the Fair of St. Romain in the Champ du Pardon, outside Rouen's walls, was a mart of chicanery. There yokels gathered to be cozened; and there, amid the tents of gypsies and the booths of charlatans, Moliere and his comrades had built their theatre forain a rough-hewn affair of deals and canvas, with the bare floor for a pit and planks laid upon trestles for a stage. While the crowd gaped in wonder at the clowns in motley, the sturdy bear-leaders, the adroit jugglers, and the tinselled mountebanks with Barbary apes in leash, unctuous George Pinel, the scrivener, fulfilling the of fice of " orateur," stood haranguing all who would listen. 146 FOND DREAMS REALISED 149 " Hark ye, ladies, lords, and gentlemen ! Hark ye, burghers and burgesses ! " he cried. " This is the Illus trious Theatre ! Here each actor is proficient in the part he will assume ! Here shall we play you ' The Liar/ a noble comedy writ in verse by the Sieur de Corneille. Of the fame of this honourable native of your city, I need not speak! All France does him honour! Of our offering let me say that it is a sprightly play, wherein a young man from the provinces wins fortune and love in Paris by lying to his inamorata, his father, his servant, and his friends ! For the price of five sous, you may hear the falsehoods of this young scapegrace fabrica tions so prodigious that I counsel all who come within to be well staved by a cooper, lest laughter burst your ribs ! " Here Pinel's tongue dried within his mouth. While his sleek sides panted, the " master players of instru ments " produced sounds so boisterous that rival vaga bonds grew envious. The meanwhile, pedlars, chap men, balladists, and peep-showmen; woe-begone beg gars, quacks, and acrobats; manipulators of marion- nettes ; pastry cooks with sweetmeats to hawk ; fools with bladder and bauble; and every conceivable trickster from the " coquillarde," or false pilgrim, to the " sa- bouleux," who chewed soap so that, foaming at the mouth, he might pass for an epileptic sang the cries of their calling or bleated their infirmities. Whenever Pinel's voice grew hoarse, the musicians tooted vigor ously and beat their drum. It was a merry throng the slippery scribe harangued, a throng light of heart and gay in colour. Opposite the crude theatre stood a booth devoted to " paye qui tombe," a game of merriment. There a 150 FAME'S PATHWAY tight rope had been stretched; and across it each new comer must walk or pay the forfeit; whereby many a dunce and many a dame fell sprawling to the ground. The shouts and guffaws attracted the crowd thither. When those who had paid the forfeit many a time and were bruised in many a place espied the Illustrious Theatre, they entered by twos and threes till a plumed cavalier passed in; then they followed like a flock of sheep after a bell-wether. Behind a curtain of travel-stained damask, Moliere stood quaking, his nerves all a-tremble. Here was a theatre filling with the people of a city where Mondory first had played Corneille's " M elite ; " whither the best actors of France came from time to time. No gathering of stupid burghers of Poissy was this; nor of clod-polls either. All Rouen was on pleasure bent. Through a rent in the curtain he gazed at the rabble in the pit: lackeys, soldiers, artisans, and impecunious gentlemen. Discordant sounds filled his ears laughter, oaths, and ribald jests; the tuning of instruments; the click of rapier and spur; the shrill cries of the orange- girl. Upon a rough platform where benches had been placed in lieu of boxes, fine gentlemen were whispering to their lady-loves. There ardent glances passed to amorous eyes glowing beneath black velvet masks. Afraid to gaze longer upon these faces he must move to laughter, Moliere turned away, lest his courage faH. Upon the stage a row of dandies sat combing their wigs. A soubrette's cap perched coyly on her raven locks, the tips of her fingers within the pockets of her apron, Trinette stood near. Already her eyes were slanting. As Moliere passed, a fop called to her: " Eh, my pretty one, who 's that lank fellow with the FOND DREAMS REALISED 151 big nose and the bushy eyebrows? Is he an actor in your comedy; or a lout decked out with sword and cloak to pass for a gentleman? " " That's Moliere, sir," the girl laughed back. " He means to set the world afire." " Not with his looks/' the jackanapes chuckled. " Morbleu, he '11 not be hanged for them ! " Angry tears welled in Moliere's eyes and would have flowed, had not a hand touched his. Turning, he met the sympathetic eyes of Madeleine. " Fear not," she whispered. " Play as you played at Poissy. Be natural; be yourself." " Ah, Madeleine dear," he said, " for your sake I '11 play with all the ardour in me." Fiddles were squeaking shrewdly; restless feet were shuffling. Beys, made self-sufficient by the office of re- gisseur, pounded three times with a cudgel. To find Bejart, his valet in the comedy, Moliere glanced high and low. At last he spied a pair of spindle legs be neath a curtain. Soon a chalked face emerged, and with it a lean torso. To the stutterer's side sped the young actor, there to stand on trembling legs until the curtains parted; thence to the centre of the stage he strode, knowing not how nor scarcely why. Behind him was a strip of painted canvas; before him those surging faces. His eyes fell upon a rigid burgher seated on the uttermost bench a lawyer, he looked; a lawyer who had never smiled. If this stern face were moved to mirth, the rest mattered not. To him he spoke these lines: "At last my lawyer's gown I 've doffed, a sword To swing ! The waiting has been none too gay ! Full leave to heed this choice, my father grants; Indeed, I 've bankrupted that legal trash! 152 FAME'S PATHWAY Since in the Tuileries we loiter now, That land of gallantry where Fashion stalks, Tell me if I be not of courtly grace? If aught of student airs you may discern? For in the kingdom of the law, 't is hard A modish look and bearing to acquire. In sooth, I 've much to fear " With the sound of his own voice, courage came to him. "At last a lawyer's gown I Ve doffed," he mused; for like himself, Dorante, the young reprobate he was por traying, had discarded musty books a modish look and bearing to acquire. He forgot almost that he was playing in a comedy. In his turn to speak, he held that the climate of Paris was different from that of Poictiers, whence he came. " Other qualities are needed here," quoth he. Thus the valet answered him: "Know Paris better, since you speak of her; For here, things seldom are as they appear. A mighty haunt where haggling merchants crowd; A place where you '11 be duped as nowhere else In France! That 's Paris, sir! And here amid More polished wits, as many numskulls dwell; Ay, more than elsewhere ! Into the tumult This great world creates, from everywhere come Men of every sort; for, in all France Few spots exist where refuse is not found Beside the choice. Badly men know their kind! Each decks himself, and passes current here With common ease for full the price he puts Upon himself. In Paris fellows worse Than you succeed in being deemed of worth!" " In Paris," brooded Moliere, " men pass for the price each sets upon himself. There fellows worse than I succeed." He was recalled to his part of Dorante by Madeleine, who came upon the stage to enact a chaste coquette. FOND DREAMS REALISED 153 With her came La Malingre, as a maiden more demure; and Trinette, too, to play a lady's maid. With his valet tugging at his sleeve, Dorante lied glibly to these ladies of his prowess in wars he had never fought, and when they had gone, he lied to the lover of her whose charms had smitten him Alcippe, his own bosom friend. Hearing him laud an entertainment, he declared himself to be the giver of the fete. The barges, the collation, the lutes, the hautboys, and the violins, the jasmine and orange flowers that made each bark a festal hall, the rockets and fusees that turned the night into another day, were paid for by his purse, he vowed, in honour of a lady whom he loved. Seeing in him a rival, Alcippe burned with jealousy. Watching this scene anxiously, Madeleine saw that Moliere's acting had the spontaneous charm of the pedant he had played in Poissy. His liar was a pleasing brag gart whose fibs were prompted by no deeper malice than a wish to hide his rural birth, a longing to appear a gallant. Beneath his falsity ran an undercurrent of youth and joyousness that made him lovable. The curtains closed. The coxcombs stretched them selves; then cast fond glances right and left, to which Trinette proved not averse. Moliere, hastening to the wings, met Madeleine radiant with smiles. " Not a groan nor a hiss," she said. " No apples to pelt you, though you are in Normandy, the land of them. Ah, Moliere, lad, you little realise how well you played!" " I little realise how I did play at all," he laughed. " Upon the farthest bench, I saw a sallow lawyer with a look so stern that I resolved to play to him, because he was the most forbidding; and when my voice rang out, 154 FAME'S PATHWAY fear vanished, for the lines I uttered seemed to be an echo of myself, so like were they to my condition." " You were yourself/' she cried; " and being so, your art was true." " Far rather would I be a hero with exalted lines to speak." " Exalted fiddle-faddle/' said Madeleine scornfully. " He does well what he knows best." Before he could reply, an elbow pushed him ruthlessly aside. Turning, he saw the rake whose jest to Trinette had hurt him so cruelly. He caught a whiff of frangi- pane, then heard a drawling voice: "When there are gentlemen about, a lady fair as you should waste no time upon an actor. Pardi, I'd give a louis d'or to kiss those lips ! " " A price that puts but little value on their charms/' said Madeleine tartly. Moliere clutched the rapier by his side. To run the fellow through was his desire; yet caste was pitiless, he knew. This fop might have him beaten by his servants if he wished him, the buffoon, the vagabond. He turned away to curb the anger surging in his breast. Beside him stood Beys mopping his neck lest the broad linen collar he had donned should melt; in the pit, the noises grew apace an uproar of voices, the stamping of feet. The fat poet rapped three times upon the stage. The curtains parted. Moliere waited for his cue. In his anxiety to sway that multitude once more, his anger vanished. In a maze of complications caused by Dorante's lies, the play went on, till Moliere, debonair, his eyes aglow with zeal, came upon the stage to play that guileful liar. Seeking to foil his father in the play, in the wish that he should marry a lady not to his taste, he begged FOND DREAMS REALISED 155 forgiveness for having married in the provinces Orphise, a fictitious maiden who had charmed him, he averred, with her wit and beauty. Urged to confess the truth in its entirety, he told this lie of lies: "I visited her chamber, I believe, September second. Ay, beyond a doubt I was entrapped that day. In town that night Her father supped; returning home, he climbed The stairs, until he reached her door, then knocked. Ashamed, alarmed, now turning pale, now red, She hid me in a corner; then, opened wide The door, and her confusion to conceal, The worthy man embraced with tenderness. An artful minx was she! Upon a chair Sat he to tell her that he wished to see Her stationed well in life. With this in view, He named a suitor, who implored that he Accord her hand forthwith. Judge how my heart Beat then; and judge how painfully I suffered! By subtlety she gladdened him; and me She likewise pacified; until, at last, The tiresome meeting closed, and the good man Prepared to take his leave. Just then, my watch Struck lustily, and he, astonished, gazed In wonder on his child. ' Since when,' he asked, 'This watch hast thou? Who gave it thee?' 'Acaste,' Said she, 'my cousin, sent it me to be Repaired, since in the village where he dwells Watchmakers are unknown.' It sounded twice Within the quarter hour. ' Pray give it me,' Quoth he. ' Far better care than thou I'll take Of it.' To have it from me, she approached The corner where I was concealed. I gave The watch into her hand. Alas! the chain Entwined about my pistol butt, pulled hard The trigger; whereupon the powder flashed Within the pan ! Off went the charge ! Pray think How we by this sad mishap were dismayed! Upon the floor swooned she! I thought her dead! Her father, frightened, hastened to the door To summon aid. ' Thou murderer ! ' cried he. His sons and servants twain my flight opposed! O'erborne by rage, by failure driven mad, I fought, with weapon drawn, a way to slash! 156 FAME'S PATHWAY Ill-luck still reigned ! In fragments three my sword Was shattered then! Disarmed, backward to trace My steps was I compelled, until Orphise, Recovered from her fright, showed wit Enough to close the door upon herself And me. Then, meaning to defend ourselves Anew, we heaped the tables, chairs, and bed Against the door, the footstool and the chest, A barricade to make. Sufficient time To parley or to win we sought to gain. First one and then another fought against This rampart; then a wall was pierced. O'erpowered, At last, was I, and fain must come to terms ! " The uncouth play-house trembled with applause. Then the father said: " To speak plain French, 't was meet that you should marry." The lad spoke on, his eye alight, his cheek flushed with confidence: " Entrapped with her at night was I. Her kin The stronger seemed, and she o'er-beautiful. The scandal had been great! Her honour lost. What other course had I? I asked myself. Her efforts for my safety, and her tears, Her peril, too, unto my loving heart But added charms. Her honour and my life To save, the utmost pinnacle of joy With her to mount, I spoke a single word That changed this tempest into happiness. I did what any gentleman thus placed Should do. Choose, whether you will see me die Or have this jewel none may love too well." The citizens of Rouen saw upon the stage a fellow with the gait and bearing of the provinces lying to de ceive a doting father just as they had lied themselves in youth. Being fathers now, they laughed, wondering when their sons would lie to them wondering how often they had. Elated and content, Moliere, gazing upon the faces he had moved to merriment, sought the lawyer on the FOND DREAMS REALISED 157 farthest bench to see if he had smiled. At last, he found the face he looked for a face cold as Riche lieu's. The hair atop this grave man's head was thin, his ample side-locks curled. His eye was stern, his nose straight and forbidding : yet, while the actor looked, although the man smiled not, he thought he spied a sympathetic glance that seemed to say, " Well done ! " A prompting aroused him, and in a whirlwind of in trigue, the comedy proceeded, until the curtains closed upon this play, the first real comedy of France. Gen erous applause resounded through the theatre ; the actors smiled exultantly, each thrilled with the feeling that his efforts that day had been invested with success, that the applause was mainly for him. In search of further merriment, a gratified pit filed out, but the dandies on the stage were loath to leave the sunshine of Trinette's languishing and La Ma- lingre's smiles. For a time these beribboned gallants smirked and philandered; till, Beys, bowing low and speaking humbly, begged some measure of quiet, in order that the day's receipts might be counted. Ren dezvous were whispered then; and when the boards were cleared, the actors gathered in the tiring room they had improvised behind the stage. Moliere came, holding Madeleine's hand, while his heart beat joyously. She murmured praises for his acting of Dorante, and her words assured him of his triumph. Already he had tasted deep the sweets of it, for the laughing faces and the hand-claps told him he had swayed an audience. He had felt, too, the thrill that came with this knowledge; yet, the lying spark he had enacted seemed the merest trifle to his excited mind. He longed to play a serious role a hero worthy his ideals. 15S FAME'S PATHWAY The applause still ringing gaily in his ears, he watched the door-porter bring the silver livres and cop per sous fruits of his own talent. With all the company present, save Pinel the orateur, Beys and Be j art counted the money. The absent scribe came at last, his lustreless eyes for once alight. In his breathless haste he stumbled and upset the piles of coin. Beys cursed. Bejart sought a cudgel. " Comrades ! " cried Pinel, before the stutterer could belabour him. " Who think you was in our play-house this day? " "The queen regent and Mazarin, to judge by thy perturbation," laughed Moliere. " Corneille ! " the scrivener replied, when he could catch his breath ; " a greater one than they to my thinking." " Corneille ! " exclaimed the actors and actresses in chorus, their eyes blazing with excitement. " Ay, Corneille, the Master ! " said Pinel, glowing with the importance of his tidings. " Moreover, I have talked with him." "W-w-what said he?" stuttered Bejart. "That w-w-we were an impertinent lot to b-b-butcher his comedy? " " Listen, and you shall hear. Unknown to me he came in quietly to sit upon the farthest bench, within the shadow of a wall." " Upon the farthest bench ! " repeated Moliere quickly a vision of a stern lawyer in his mind. "Ay," said Pinel, "and sombre as a judge. But when he left, I, standing at the entrance, heard a friend ask what he thought of our rendition of his comedy. ' Admirable ! ' he said. ' Admirable ! ' Imagine how FOND DREAMS REALISED 159 my heart beat then, for as he spoke, another called him by his name ; and then I knew this doleful man in black, whom I had mistaken for an atrabilious lawyer, to be Corneille, the author of ' The Cid ' and of our humble offering this day ! " Of all that shabby company, the most excited was Moliere. Corneille, the lawyer on the farthest bench, to whom he played in desperation, because he looked the most forbidding! His hands chilled with terror at his own temerity. " Said he nought else ? " he asked excitedly. " He said what I should tell thee not, lest it turn thy young head," the scribe replied. ' ' The lad who essayed Dorante was excellent/ he assured his friend. ' He played the part as it should be played, with fidelity to life. He has a future, an he persevere.' Then, of me s he asked thy name." An envious silence greeted Pinel's words, but a joy too intense to be credited thrilled Moliere's soul. The realisation of his fondest dreams seemed within his grasp. Ecstasy was no longer a meaningless word to him; rapture was a state too real to be denied. His eyes sought Madeleine, and she, alone of all that jealous company, spoke the words his young heart longed to hear. " Well done, Moliere ! " she cried. " Well done ! I 'm sure each comrade here is proud of your triumph." An acquiescence barely audible faltered from lip to lip. The young actor pressed fondly sweet Made leine's hand, and whispered for her ear alone: "If I had known that sallow lawyer was Corneille, of fright I should have perished ere I spoke a line." CHAPTER VII THE SALLOW LAWYER ALL Paris marvelling at his talent; the Illustrious The atre filled from pit to gallery; his cherished art restored to the plane it had held in ancient Greece these, and countless more wild dreams of triumph, haunted Moliere's brain so persistently and perversely that Mad eleine was at her wits' end to keep his vanity in check. She sought to convince him that a provincial success was far from a Parisian triumph: yet, having pleased Cor- neille as Dorante, he longed to play Horace, Rodrigue, and the other tragic roles of the Master. Madeleine said, " Patience is the path to greatness." This made him obstreperous, and he averred that the unclean farces which delight the lock-pickers and gamblers of Paris had no place on legitimate boards. " In tragedy alone," said he, "an actor finds a worthy foil." " Corneille," answered she, " wrote six plays of medi ocre worth before he wrote ' The Cid.' Play as many middling roles before you play Rodrigue." To this argument the petulant lad acquiesced for the time being, she taking good care that only comedies and farces were offered to the denizens of the fair. In this way the coffers of the company were filled. A week passed quickly; then the merry andrews and mountebanks folded their tents, and together with the cut-purses and mumpers, sought a field for their chi canery within the walls of Rouen. Our players, too, 160 THE SALLOW LAWYER 161 removed their trestles to a tennis-court appropriately named the " Braques," or " The Giddy Brained." From Paris came word that the work of altering their theatre lagged. To arouse the master builder and the carpenter from lethargy, a notary was summoned and a mandate drawn whereby these sluggards were con strained by all legal means to fulfil their contract. Be ing duly executed, it was despatched to Paris, whilst the players lashed themselves into a fume of anxiety lest their theatre be not ready against their home-coming. Meanwhile, Moliere chafed in motley. To replete the common treasury, this playing of " worthy fools " was all very well, but it was beneath his ideals and his dignity. He meant to essay a serious part whether Madeleine willed yea or nay. Seeing him obdurate, and fearing a catastrophe should he play a lover, she suggested Herod, King of the Jews, in Francois Tristan de I'Hennite's tragedy of " Mariamne." The monotonous tones of his voice would bespeak a certain regal dignity, she thought, his prominent nose was suggestively Hebraic, his thick lips would lend an air of ferocity to this jealous king. Unwillingly he played the role one day, yet not with out success. Madeleine's prescience had divined truly. His very faults made Herod kingly. But as Mar iamne, royal daughter of Judea, she was exquisite, and there was the rub. Whilst applause for Madeleine still resounded through the tennis-court, Trinette, seeing Moliere stand ing dejectedly in the wings, went toward him. Since the day of Bej art's ducking, her witchery had waned; but now the moment seemed opportune for injecting the poison of envy into his inexperienced heart. 162 FAME'S PATHWAY " Madeleine is a charming Mariamne," she said by way of a preliminary feint. " She is, in truth/' he answered warmly, his love making him proud of her triumph. " We are not all born with such talent/' she sighed. " It is hard to feel that a soubrette is the measure of my ability. But I have a jealous heart, Moliere, whilst you are generous." " I generous ! " he exclaimed. " Indeed I envy any one success." Stealthily her black eyes glanced at him. Her low ered voice was soft and purring. " In truth you are generous/' she said; " else you would leave to Beys or Bejart the part of a cruel king. You, the youngest and best favoured, with warm blood in your veins and the fire of passion in your heart, should play a lover or a hero, not a miscreant with a beard ! " He stroked nervously the beard she spoke of. " Madeleine assured me that I could play the role of Herod better than her brother," he faltered. The girl restrained a smile with difficulty. " Mar iamne is a part par excellence for her," she said. " Re member your success in ' The Liar. ' Ah, had you seen the jealous glances that flashed from her eyes that day!" " An injustice," he said quickly. Trinette shrugged hter pretty shoulders. " I said nought ill of her : moreover, it is her privilege to choose the roles that please her best." "And I am glad 't is so," answered he, loyalty to Madeleine forcing him to quell the jealousy this girl had instilled in him; " glad because she wins great credit for our enterprise." THE SALLOW LAWYER 163 " According to the contract signed last June you have the right to play the role of hero." " Successively with Bejart and Clerin," he said; "one hero out of three." She toyed with a scarf about her shoulders, knotting and unknotting it several times; then looked into his face suddenly. " Demand your rights ! An actor who can play Dorante so notably as to win Corneille's praise should aspire to greater things than miscreants and scapegraces." Having launched this poisoned shaft, the minx left him to his own mean spirit. How well Trinette had read his heart, he thought; for he longed indeed to scale the highest peaks. More than once Madeleine had sought to curb his ambition ! " Ah, had you seen the jealous glances that flashed from her eyes that day I " Whilst he finished the uncongenial role of Herod, those words of Trinette echoed and re-echoed in his ears. The theatre rang with applause for Made leine. He, the hateful king, was the recipient of angry glances, even hisses. " Can it be," he asked himself, when the play was ended, " that she deliberately represses my talent in order to enhance her own ? " " Perish the thought ! " his heart cried out. Yet striVe as he might to quell the wicked spirit Trinette's cunning had aroused, he could not stifle it entirely, for it was an ambitious spirit as well a longing to achieve. When the obnoxious beard of Herod had been dis carded, Moliere, seeking to avoid the talk and banter of his comrades, went forth into the clear November air. It was near the hour of sunset. At a corner of the rue du Paneret, he tarried, uncertain in which direction to 1641 FAME'S PATHWAY stroll. To the left stood the old palace of Rouen with its moated walls and castellated towers; to the right the way led to the market-place where Jeanne d'Arc had paid to English hate the penalty of loving France too well. The fish mart and pillory were there. Fear ing to be reminded of the market-place of Paris where his father truckled to the mighty and ground the last sou from the poor, he turned instinctively to the left and wandered toward the Seine. Passing beneath a city gate, he stood outside the walls upon the quai de la Romaine. Freighted with barges from Paris and ships from the sea, the winding river flowed past him silently. To the west, in a rose- tinged sky, hung purple clouds. Behind the tree tops of a forest, the sun was sinking in a flood of molten gold while burnishing the water with its rays. A brisk wind sang through the cordage of the vessels; sailors, clewing the top-sails of a galleon, chanted a weird re frain; upon the gleaming river sailed a ship from Eng land, the ruffled water rippling from her prow, her can vas tinged with golden light and bellied by the wind. A phantom ship she seemed, upon a sea of fire; then, as the twilight fell, he thought her some strange and heavenly bird with glowing wings, so new was the sight of this proud being of the seas to his landsman's eyes. Near him, upon the quay, a fire was crackling. Around it squatted a group of tawny seamen. A pot was stewing above the flames; a rollicking song was welling forth. To see what manner of men these bearded sailors were, he approached them and exchanged a word of greeting with the chief, a low-browed fel low with earrings and a dirk. A man of legal bearing, wrapped in a flowing black 8S $ a THE SALLOW LAWYER 165 cloak, was passing at the time; and as the firelight fell on Moliere's face, he gazed at him intently; then ap proached him and spoke : " Is not your name Moliere ? And are you not the young actor I saw play the role of Dorante in my comedy?" At those words " my comedy," Moliere's heart thrilled with awe. Looking up, he met the stern eye of him he had thought to be a sallow lawyer that day when he had played before the haunters of a fair. So frightened was he at finding himself face to face with the Master he revered that he could barely say : " Yes, monsieur ; I am Moliere." Corneille saw the young man's embarrassment; and to lighten it, he said with as much graciousness as one so notoriously reticent as he could assume : " You played Dorante well. I liked your rendition. How long have you been upon the stage ? " " You witnessed my debut, sir," the lad faltered ; " that is to say, my debut before any considerable audience. I had played to friends in Paris and, on the way hither, in the tap-rooms of inns; but never to so large a gathering." The poet drew his cloak about his shoulders. Taking a step toward the gate of St. Elroy, he said: "I have just debarked from the packet that brought me from Havre-de-Grace, where I have been upon legal matters since the day of your debut. Are you walking toward the city? I should like to talk with you." For the privilege of talking with the author of " The Cid," Moliere would have walked to the end of the earth. As these two lovers of the stage stepped forth, the one a mature genius of thirty-seven, whose tragedies had set all France agog, the other a neophyte of one- 166 FAME'S PATHWAY and-twenty, darkness had fallen upon the valley of the Seine. At the gate they were questioned by the city watch, yet allowed to pass. Inside the walls, lights began to glimmer in the win dows of the wealthy, but the poor groped in darkened hovels. The air had the chilliness of winter. In many a shop a brazier was glowing; but the cold mattered not to Moliere, for he was warmed by a celestial fire. He, an unknown stroller, walking beside the great Cor- neille and talking with him, too! Readily, to the Mas ter's questioning, he told the simple facts in his career his schooling in a Jesuit college, his distaste for his father's trade, his desultory study of the law, his passion for the stage. As the lad's story progressed, Corneille's stern look relaxed into an expression of keen interest. " I went to a Jesuit college too, he said, " and then studied the law. I was even admitted as an advocate before the parliament of Rouen; but my speech is too unready, I fear, for the legal profession. However, I still retain a judgeship my father purchased for me when I was about your age." Moliere raised his eager face reverently. " All the judgeships in the land are not an iota to your mastery," he cried. ' The Cid ' is an epoch in the dramatic history of France! Until you penned that masterpiece, the passions that rend the heart had not been painted. Duty, tenderness, honour, love, and nobility were un known upon our stage. Ah, sir, you were the valiant knight who rescued our drama from the vulgar toils of cunning priests and lewd buffoons. ' Beautiful as " The Cid ! " Those words have become a proverb for those who would express wonder and admiration." Although flatttered by this eulogy, Corneille read THE SALLOW LAWYER 167 deeper than the surface of Moliere's words. Those dark eyes, glowing so ardently beneath their shaggy brows, lighted an artist's soul, he felt sure: and thus it happened that he, a man so diffident that he was known throughout the fine world as " that fellow Corneille," unbent his reserve. "Your praise is very gratifying," he said pleasantly; " yet Richelieu proclaimed ' The Cid ' immoral, and at his bidding the academicians condemned it. It was, they said, the apotheosis of passionate love at the ex pense of imperious duties. Alas ! I am not sure but that they were right." " Right in condemning a masterpiece ! " expostulated Moliere, every nerve quivering with emotion. " Yes, right," answered the poet, his face tightening once more into the look of sternness it habitually wore. " The drama has a noble purpose to fulfil a purpose to be accomplished by the upholding of worthy ideals. Our stage was, as you have justly said, in vulgar toils until Jodelle and Hardy sowed the seeds of a national drama. Those seeds have barely taken root. For my part, I mean to do all within my power to nourish them. In Greece, the stage was an institution of the whole people. Its aims were lofty; its honours sought by the noblest. Such should be its state in France! Our drama should be truly national! Patriotism should in spire every worthy play! 'The Cid' was justly con demned by the Academy, I now believe, because, in a patriotic drama, love should have a slight place, or none at all. Some great interest of the State should be the subject, or some passion more manly than love; as, for instance, ambition or vengeance. If fear is per mitted, it should be a fear less puerile than that in spired by the loss of a mistress. Love should be second 168 FAME'S PATHWAY in rank to the capital passions, if the dignity of the drama is to be upheld, the stage restored to the exalted place it held in Greece. Through tragedy alone may this object be attained, for comedy is trivial and farce is vulgar. Although I have written comedies such as ' The Liar/ I mean henceforth to devote my life to the nobler cause of tragedy." Throughout this homily, Moliere, listening breath lessly, hung upon each word as from the lips of an oracle. " Ah, had Madeleine but heard that noble dis course," thought he, " no longer would she oppose the fulfilment of my dreams." Corneille's words seemed divinely inspired. He could have kissed the hem of his garment. " Master," he cried in his enthusiasm, " each word you have spoken rings with truth. Pray enroll me as your humble disciple, for I, too, shall devote my life to this noble cause. Never will I play again in an un worthy play." Corneille stopped in front of a sombre portal and lifted the brass knocker, for, talking thus, while strolling through the darkened streets, he had reached his house. " I fear I must leave you," he said, putting forth his hand. "If my words have inspired you, they have not been in vain. Good-night, my young friend. You have talent, and if you strive hard to succeed in your chosen calling, your future is secure." Moliere seized the proffered hand and pressed it to his lips. Countless emotions thrilled his heart only to perish in the fear that any words he might utter must prove inadequate. " Master, this hour with you has been the happiest of my life ! " he stammered forth, when he could find the breath to speak. THE SALLOW LAWYER 169 While hastening to his humble lodgings, he longed to cry his joy aloud, so thrilled was he with hope and promise and the courage to do battle for a noble cause. In Paris alone was victory to be won. " There fellows worse than I succeed in being deemed of worth," he repeated to himself again and again, while picturing his triumph in that mighty haunt of haggling merchants, of nobles, cavaliers, and great ladies; that Parnassus where the poet and the artist dwelt and fame was a fair goddess to be wooed and won. In his exultation, he imagined the Illustrious Theatre acknowledged far and wide as the resort of wit and fashion; the drama raised by its influence to an exalted state; himself the first tragedian in the realm a modern Polus. Ay, even a greater triumph he foresaw, for had he not written verses Voiture had praised? Why should not he be a modern Euripides as well, and add his garland of tragedy to those of Hardy and Corneille the .2Eschylus and Sophocles of France? It was a fair vision, and as he hurried through the cheerless streets so rapidly that the passers-by mar velled at his haste, he felt as if he were flying through the joyous air astride a winged steed. In fancy he saw afar off a theatre filled from pit to roof, himself upon the stage in classic garb, the four walls trembling with applause. When he reached the squalid house where he and Madeleine dwelt, he did not tell her the half of all that was said during his meeting with Corneille, or the quarter of all he thought, for he felt that her heart was at variance with his that she would have him strut his life out, a turkey of farce. CHAPTER VIII PARIS DEBONAIR! IN play-loving Rouen, a profitable fortnight passed speedily; then the actors bent their steps toward Paris, the goal of their ambitions. Flushed with provincial success, the gold of Normandy jingling in their pockets, they reached the capital in good time, not a mishap marring the journey. December was a month of idleness, the work on the play-house lagging. When the carpenters loitered, Moliere chid them for being sluggards, or bent his young shoulders to the work of carrying deals. At last, a rough platform was built at one end of the dingy tennis-court, and a stout gallery, to hold boxes for the quality, along the three remaining sides. Clusters of tallow dips were hung from the ceiling, and curtains stretched sidewise on the stage, in lieu of wings. A barrier at the height of a man's elbow, to keep the quarrelsome in the pit from attacking the actors, how ever great the provocation, completed this humble play house. When he stood at last upon the finished stage, Moliere's heart beat exultantly. In fancy, he saw the empty theatre filled with eager faces, heard hand-claps and approving shouts. To the fulfilment of this dream, there was, however, an obstacle. A dissension had arisen in the company regarding the first offering a war between Melpomene 170 PARIS DEBONAIR 171 and Thalia. He, perforce, upheld the sombre cause. Arrayed with him was Beys, ready with a tragedy on which the ink was scarcely dry. Sensible Madeleine captained the host of comedy. Through her efforts, an armistice was declared; and on the day the sluggish workmen finally laid down their tools, a meeting was called at her house to arrange the terms of peace. Eager to hear the last hammer's blow, Moliere alone among his comrades had visited the play-house that day. No more playing in tap-rooms and granges, he thought, as he gazed at the empty pit that soon would teem with rapscallion humanity; no more truckling to the deni zens of fairs that is, if Madeleine's sordid spirit could be curbed. Oppressed with the thought that he and she were at strife, he left the silent theatre to wend his way to the fateful meeting. But a more pressing fear than her defection drove this sadness from his mind. The tennis-court stood outside the walls in an un- paved faubourg; the December rains had left the street a sea of mud. Knowing that coaches would surely founder there, he bethought him of his father's friend, Leonard Aubry, pavier in ordinary to the king. This good man should make the approach to the Illustrious Theatre worthy the people of quality its fame would attract. His sanguine mind heard straightway the cries of footmen and saw the naming torches of the link-boys. Dreaming thus, he reached the towered walls of Paris and passed beneath the porte de Nesle to the quai des Augustins. Beside him flowed the murky Seine, alive with river craft. In the stream horsemen were water ing their steeds belly deep; upon the sands barges lay stranded; boatmen were chanting merrily, wherries 172 FAME'S PATHWAY passing to and fro; from the court-yard of the long, grey palace of the Louvre sounded a fanfare of trump ets, a roll of drums. The day was waning, and he hastened on, now dodg ing a train of sumpter mules, now jumping from be neath the hoofs of a musketeer's galloping charger. Across the Pont Neuf flowed a ceaseless stream of humanity; and into it he plunged, one hand grasping his wallet, the other his mantle. It was a throng to delight him: every rascal in Paris, and every dupe; every noise, as well, even to the cries of the victims of Carmeline, the tooth-puller. Near the bronze horse of Henry IV, he stopped to watch the antics of Orvietan, the quack. Amid bottled snakes and stingless vipers stood this arch charlatan, the sleeves of his cabalistic gown waving to his gestures, his raucous voice crying the merits of his opiates and balsams, his ointments and quint essences, for the cure of every ill. When the quack's voice failed him, nimble mountebanks tumbled for the merriment of the crowd. Tiring of this hocus-pocus, Moliere turned to watch the coarse tomfoolery on the stage of Bary, a rival empiric a farce for the people such as Madeleine would have him play, an she had her will. It recalled the day when, loitering with Chapelle upon that very bridge, he had envied those buffoons their careless calling. To wear a clown's cap and bare his back to the beatings of comedy had been his idle dream that day. His yearnings were more exalted now; for he saw himself envied by Montfleury and Bellerose, the foremost actors of France. " Ah, Madeleine," said his heart, " why do you oppose my ambition ? Is Trinette PARIS DEBONAIR , 173 right? Does jealousy inspire you? . *. . No, no, it cannot be ! " and ashamed of having admitted so base a thought, he hastened on. The bridge was alive with trickery; the air rent with the cries of pedlars, the moaning of beggars. To a group of starvelings, a haggard poet was reciting a libel on the cardinal ruler of the realm a Mazarinade. The sight of the gaunt faces and ragged shapes about this lampooner made Moliere's heart ache. Into the shrivelled hand of a baby crying on its mother's dry breast, he thrust a copper; then lent his young lungs to the cry of " Down with Mazarin ! " that arose from the famished listeners to the pasquinade a cry that brought the watch in hot haste to beat back the crowd with their halberds and drag the lean poet to gaol amid hisses and groans. Sickened by this display of tyranny, Moliere saunt ered toward the Pump of la Samaritaine, where squatted chapmen, balladists, and gazetteers. There sat blind Philippot the Savoyard, " child of the muses ! " He joined the crowd about this sightless bard, dropping a coin into his frayed hat when he sang : "Don't forsake the Savoyard, With his songs both lewd and light. If he had not lived so hard, He would not have lost his sight." But the chimes above the pump-house were pealing a joyous tune, a prelude to the huge clock's striking the hour of four, so he hurried on into a maze of streets. In the rue St. Honore, he saw the house where he had passed his youth, with its sign " au pavilion des singes." The sight of the monkeys carved on the corner post 174 FAME'S PATHWAY made him shudder, for he remembered that, among the ancients, those mimetic animals had symbolised the art of comedy. Were they an omen of the fate in store for him? he wondered; only to laugh at the idea, for Made leine, or all the king's men, could not swerve him from his exalted purpose. In passing, he gazed at the windows of his mother's room, on the instant recalling her pale, wasted face as he had seen it last. Vainly his heart yearned for her unselfish love. Hastening through the rue de la Tonnellerie, where his father's crass friends dwelt, he drew his hat over his eyes, lest the skinny, crooked-nose frippers of that street should point the finger of scorn at him, the prod igal, the outcast. Before the Church of St. Eustache, he paused to gaze at his father's new house in the arcade of the market place. Since the hour when he had been turned from its door, he had never crossed the threshold. At the thought of his apathetic sisters and his grinning brother, he smiled. The pottage was theirs now the right to make the king's bed. Before the door stood a gilded sedan. A link-boy was lighting his torch with flint and steel. A light glimmered, too, in the upholstery shop, and he pictured his brother bustling to and fro with bolts of taffeta and brocade while his crafty father tempted some won- drously peruked grande dame with obsequious words such as these: "If Madame la Comtesse will permit the suggestion, this rose brocade is more coquettish than the blue of Madame la Marquise de Rambouillet's salon. If Ma dame la Comtesse will pardon the indiscretion, rose is PARIS DEBONAIR 175 a hue far more delicate than blue. Will Madame la Comtesse deign to consider it ? " The shop door opened and his cringing father bowed an exalted customer to her chair. As he bent his bald head servilely and rubbed his grasping hands to gether, even the lackey bearing the lady's lap-dog eyed him with disdain. Rather than share the base life of his brother, the young actor felt that he would gladly tramp his life out behind a creaking ox-cart, ay, even wither in the stocks beside yon drooping criminals. Indeed, he was no Poquelin, he averred, but a Cresse through and through a scion of his mother's house. Had not her father taken him, when but a lad, to the pit of the Hotel de Bourgogne; had he not called down upon his grey head the seven vials of Poquelin wrath? " Do you wish to make him an actor? " his father had growled, whilst he, in terror, hid behind the folds of his grandfather's mantle. " May it please Heaven," vouchsafed the good man, " that he become as fine an actor as Bellerose." His grandfather had been an upholsterer too, yet he had craved other things than sous of profit, thought Moliere, as he hastened to the rue Mauconseil. Not twenty steps away stood the Hotel de Bourgogne to rekindle every longing of his soul. Two soldiers brushed aside the armed porter at the door. To follow was a temptation he could not withstand. Soft voices hummed in the boxes; the rabble in the pit laughed and cursed; above this din bellowed Mont- fleury, straining his fat sides till the perspiration ran into his false beard in streams. The walls trembled to his fustian until the candles sputtered. " Would that crazy Cyrano de Bergerac had forbid- 176 FAME'S PATHWAY den him the stage for ever/' sighed Moliere, thinking of the day when the eccentric Gascon, sniffing rage through his bulbous nose, had whipped his terrible rapier from its sheath to defy the whole pit, and forbid Montfleury to act for a month, a mandate the player was con strained to obey. " Since that rascal has grown so fat that he cannot be thoroughly drubbed in one day," cried Cyrano, " he gives himself airs ! " " Ah, that was a glorious victory for art," thought Moliere, " yet it has in no way dimmed Montfleury 's popularity nor his conceit. Verily, his hide is as dense as his public. Shall I ever be the idol of the crowd? " he wondered. " Not if I must follow in that ranter's footsteps ! " The curtains hid Montfleury from view. In the pit, where Moliere stood, a nondescript army was shouting, stamping, and sweltering in its own odours. Having no taste for the loose farce to follow the tragedy as its an tithesis or antidote he left the foul-smelling place. Soon he had reached the Marais quarter, and there almost ran upon a crowd of roisterers coming from the theatre du Marais. Lest his cloak be snatched, he hid in a doorway till only the echo of their lewd talk re sounded through the street; venturing forth, he fared on with his eyes alert, for the Marais quarter was the haunt of rogues, as well as of poets and actors a quarter unsafe for a man alone at night, or for a woman at any time the Bohemia of that day, land of the free and home of the benighted. When he reached Madeleine's door, in the cul-de-sac de Thorigny, he lifted the brass knocker and rapped lustily. From within came the sound of heated voices. CHAPTER IX KING PETAUD'S COURT IN Madeleine's house, the actors and actresses of the Illustrious Theatre awaited their young comrade's ar rival. They were an odd company, the ladies being mostly the gaudy birds of a shady paradise, and their companions a vagabondish lot in withering frippery. The flashiness of these Jills or the shabbiness of their Jacks made slight difference, however, to any except Madeleine. Whilst the others gibed merrily, she sat quietly apart hemming a mob-cap. Too thoroughly alive to the ex actions of her craft not to realise the histrionic short comings of those laughing, lolling mates of hers, she wondered what would be the outcome of an undertaking illustrious thus far only in name. Experience cautioned her to forswear the venture entirely: yet Moliere had conceived it, had set his heart upon it, had risked his all; and just as her fond lips had sealed their approval of it a score of times since the enchanted day of its in ception, she knew that her heart would carry her into any new folly of his even to the abetting of a tragedy. Hoping against hope, she plied her needle calmly; the meanwhile, her comrades grew restless. " A full hour passed, and no signs of Moliere ! " yawned Clerin. " Mayhap he has been waylaid by cut-throats," wailed Pinel. 177 178 FAME'S PATHWAY But Joseph Bejart, sprawling on the bench with his face to the fire, knew that Moliere was merely a pro crastinating youth overgiven to dreaming. " You are m-m-making as much fuss about nothing as a c-c-crow pecking nuts off a t-t-tree," he grunted. " Why b-b-bother about the lad at all? " " Indeed," said Beys, " why bother ? I opine that this meeting should come to its business." " And I too," echoed Clerin. Madeleine laid aside her sewing. " This meeting having been called for the purpose of deciding the future policy of our organisation," she answered quietly, " its deliberations concern each one of us." " We are all here but Moliere/' said Trinette, to try her. "Yes; all but Moliere." "It is strange," shrugged the jade, "that one so opposed to his wishes should await his coming so anxiously." Madeleine did not resent the insinuation. A quiet smile barely disturbed the composure of her face. Her silence permitted litigious Andre Mareschal to explode a petard on his own behalf. Having witnessed the contract that had bound these illustrious players to their course, this shifty advocate in Parliament had come at their bidding this day to unravel legal knots. Al though a lawyer, he plied the trade of playwright too, his advice being given freely to the Illustrious Theatre with the hope that it would afford a market for his plays. " If the choice of a drama is the matter in hand," said he, producing a manuscript from the bosom of his doublet with a flourish, " ' The Equitable Judgment of KING PETAUD'S COURT 179 Charles the Bold, Last Duke of Burgundy/ my latest tragedy, which I hold herewith to your view, is a meet offering." Beys was on his feet in an instant, waving frantic ally a manuscript of his own penning. " I am the poet of the troupe ! " he shouted ; " my rights are para mount ! " Mareschal's attitude was forensic, as became an advo cate in Parliament. Sweeping a skinny finger toward his rival in a gesture of disdain, he continued calmly, " My plays have held the boards of both the Hotel de Bourgogne and the Theatre du Marais." The fat poet snapped back his answer, "If thy tragedies were worth the four paws of a dog, they would still hold those boards ! " Surveying Beys with contempt, Mareschal launched these words at him : " Dedicated to none other than His Eminence, the Cardinal Due de Richelieu, a tragedy of mine had the distinction of being presented at the Palais Cardinal. Never will I give place to a wine- sack, whose plays are as besotted as his brain." " A wine-sack am I ? " cried Beys, his round head and his round paunch both quivering with rage. " May the fire of St. Anthony burn thee for a numskull ! " "A shovel mocking a rake," laughed Madelon Ma- lingre, to shame them. " A choice between a lame horse and a blind one," said Genevieve Bejart. " Were Moliere here," sneered Clerin, " they would both prove greater cowards than the moon." He was thinking of the time when the lad had quelled a similar brawl with no more ado than a threatening look and the gentle tapping of his rapier's hilt; but no 180 FAME'S PATHWAY one with energy to cow the warring poets being there, they shot hate from their eyes and, shaking their manu scripts defiantly, roared the maledictions of an age none too refined, till Moliere's knocking resounded on the door. Bejart drew the latch. " S-s-speak of a wolf and you s-s-spy his tail," he grunted, as his young comrade entered the room. " You arrive as seasonably as a fish in Lent," said Trinette, edging toward him and smiling. Moliere, who had heard the commotion from with out, glanced from face to face to divine the cause. In a room lighted by sputtering candles and glimmering flames, eleven fellow-Thespians were gathered. Two of them were gesticulating wildly ; and no sooner had the door closed, than their voices broke forth again. " Bard of the fish mart!" "Poet of the gutters!" "Thy tragedy is a literary pustule ! " " Thine a cancerated fester of odious words ! " were the expletives that fell upon his ears. " Gentlemen ! " he cried, " gentlemen ! have I come to the court of King Petaud, where every one is master, where commotion reigns ? " " You have come to a court of dusty feet," grunted Pinel. " Where two rogues are preaching their own saints," added Clerin, " each trying to convince the rest of us that bladders are lanterns." Joseph Bejart showed his yellow tusks in a grin. " In p-p-plain French," he stammered, " each of these poetasters has a t-t-tragedy of his own p-p-penning he will have the Illustrious Theatre enact." " Therefore each sings his own goat-song," laughed Moliere. KING PETAUD'S COURT 181 The rotund poet and the lean poet glared defiance, but their tongues were shamed into silence. Whilst their comrades roared their discomfiture, the one reached for a fagot that lay on the hearth, the other for a tank ard. Pinel grasped an arm, Clerin seized a wrist, lest a genuine tragedy be forthcoming. Seeing Mareschal's sparse hair bunched out like the quills of an angry porcupine, and Beys's round face a fiery sun of rage, Moliere's mouth puckered in a smile. " How dense you are, comrades," he said, with an assumption of mock gravity ; " do you not see that if these rogues destroy one another in a battle royal, the world will be the richer by two poets the less? Away, both of you ! Let them have at each other." With a choking cry of rage, Beys wrenched his arm from Clerin's grasp. " By the sacred name of a thou sand thunders," he shouted, his fagot raised threat eningly, " what business is it of thine whether we quarrel or not?" " Softly, my friend, softly," said the young actor, the firmness of his voice halting the fat poet's steps. " When you and Mareschal have killed each other, I, aspiring to be a poet myself, shall monopolise our ef fusions. Come, have at each other and make short shrift of it!" Beys was not slow in seeing that he was being made ridiculous. With a sheepish look, he turned toward Mareschal. " Comrade," he said, " apparently we are a pair of fools." A faint spot of colour rose on Mareschal's thin cheek. "Ay, Beys," he sighed; "every man has a fool in his sleeve." " True," said Moliere, his voice assuming a more se- 182 FAME'S PATHWAY rious tone ; " therefore let mine appear." Unconsciously he glanced toward Madeleine with eyes that told her he was not to be baffled. " Comrades," he continued, in a manner to hold the attention of the entire room, " these worthy mates of ours fell out over the choice of a play. Has the policy of our undertaking been decided in my absence ? " " N-n-nay, it hath not," grunted Bejart; "though I was of a mind to have it so, seeing you took four roads to get here." Much in earnest now, Moliere seated himself. Tri- nette stealthily drew her chair beside him. " Of prime importance," he went on, " is the adoption of a policy. Unless we are united, we shall surely fail." " Well said, Moliere, well said," purred Trinette softly when he paused. For an instant he gazed into her dark, bewitching face with a kind of fascination; then a grieved look in Madeleine's eyes made him rise to his feet suddenly. " On the one hand," he continued, " are those who would make of our venture a theatre of buffoons ; on the other, stand those who, like myself, have pledged their hearts to a noble cause, who believe that our enterprise should be illustrious ' in deed as well as in name/ " " Th-th-thou hast caught the magpie in her nest ! " stuttered Bejart. Trinette's eyes shone, her bosom swelled. " Thou hast unfurled the true banner ! " she cried, with a show of fine white teeth. Madeleine saw her glance at him through lowered lids, saw her dark eyes gleam. With a sudden ache at her heart, she arose to speak. " These ideals I approve KING PETAUD'S COURT 183 heartily/' she said ; " yet as one who has served her apprenticeship upon the stage, I know its conditions better perhaps than most of you. We are a band of un known players, remember, and the royal troupe has been granted privileges of which it is exceeding jealous. Should we play tragedy, we cannot essay the unprinted plays of Corneille or even those of Rotrou; for the royal actors would prevent us. In plays of lighter vein, we have proved our worth. Let us begin simply and unostentatiously. When we have won a following, then let the banner of tragedy be unfurled." " Battles are not won by cowardice," broke in Tri- nette, in scorn of her. Urged by his faith in the justice of his cause, Moliere upheld it, the words of Corneille echoing in his ears as an inspiration. " The stage has a noble purpose to fulfil ! " he cried. " It should be an institution of the whole people, as it was in Greece. Let the dramas we present be truly national, tragedies with patriotism for the theme, with love a subordinate issue." " Such as ' The Equitable Judgment of Charles the Bold,' " interrupted Mareschal, before Beys could protest. "A worthy subject!" answered Moliere. "Mayhap it is the play we seek." Madeleine had risen too, and the pair stood facing each other, each seeking success for the enterprise, each longing for the other's succour and approval. " Our theatre stands in a neighbourhood," said she, " where petty shopkeepers, boatmen, and muleteers will be our chief patrons. Remember the proverb, ' The more fools you are with, the more you want to laugh.' " She paused to watch the effect. 184 FAME'S PATHWAY " 'T is but begging the question," answered Moliere hotly. In his sense of isolation, any words to spur him on were welcome ; for the thought that he and she were at odds rent his heart. Stealing toward him, Trinette whispered, loud enough for Madeleine to hear : " Her opposition is too trans parent, Moliere. She would have us play comedy lest she be eclipsed in tragedy." Though Madeleine tried to restrain him with an ap pealing gesture, he turned to Mareschal with cheeks aflame, and asked : " Does not our contract state that, in all matters in dispute, the troupe shall decide by a majority of its voices? " " It is so stated in the document," answered Mare schal, with much gravity. " Then shall we vote upon this question ! " cried Moliere. Trinette gave a little gasp of satisfaction and made quick to seize an advantage. " Is it not meet that Bejart and Clerin be heard? " she asked. " They, like you, have the right to play the role of hero. If they are content to be buffoons, is it seemly for you to stand in the way of Madeleine? According to the contract, she may select the roles that please her. If comedy suits her talents best, she is surely within her rights in choosing it." These subtle words had their effect. " Nay, I '11 not gainsay my rights," said Clerin tartly. Having an actor's vanity, Bejart, too, forsook his sister's cause. " N-n-nor will I gainsay mine," he averred ; " t-t-tragedy being my forte, an I know my talents." Abetted tKus ; Moliere was led to believe in the justice KING PETAUD'S COURT 185 of his course. "If our legal friend will put the ques tion," he said to Mareschal, " this matter may be brought to a head." Throughout this argument, Madeleine had listened silently. Every poisoned word Trinette hurled at her hardened her heart, yet not so bitterly but that she pitied Moliere while pitying herself. It was no doubt a trying place for him, and she had helped to lead him there by countenancing this hot-headed scheme of his to elevate the stage. Against her better judgment she had em barked with him in this frail craft of his fancy; and against the promptings of her heart she had accepted his love because it was the thing she craved above all else. Now that it was fast slipping from her grasp, she found herself condoning him. He was so young and inexperi enced, his enthusiasm was so unbounded, that she could not justly blame him for upholding valiantly his ideals, or even for falling a prey to the wiles of an unscrupulous girl. Perhaps, if she entered heart and soul into his plan, all would still be well, and his love quench the jealous fires that seared her heart; for she stood there baffled and wretched, yet fully aware that she was fighting for her happiness and for his success. To undo in Moliere's mind the harm Trinette's chicanery had wrought, seemed her only course; for rather than let him believe that she opposed him for her own base ends, she was prepared to humble herself before her enemy. Resourceful though she knew herself to be, she felt strangely helpless; and when Moliere called on Mare schal to put the question, she interrupted him almost be fore he could finish his sentence. " One word, comrades, ere you vote. I have upheld a cautious policy because I believe that the way to sue- 186 FAME'S PATHWAY cess is long; but I cannot let dissension mar our under taking. Tragedy is manifestly our ideal, let tragedy be our policy too; for I hold with Moliere in believing it to be a nobler art than comedy. I pray that all here join with me in making the acceptance of this policy unanimous." A murmur of approval greeted these words. Tri- nette saw their import and bit her lip angrily. Moliere said nothing, but stood looking steadfastly at Made leine; and it seemed to him that the darkness which had threatened his life was rolling away. He longed to throw himself at her feet and crave pardon for having doubted her; and when Trinette whispered that he had her to thank for his triumph, he left the hussy without a word and went toward Madeleine. " Dearest," he said, " my heart is in this enterprise, and you have made possible its fulfilment." There, before all his comrades, he kissed her. Madeleine gave back the kiss, clung to him and could have sobbed with joy for new happiness. She seemed not to see the grinning faces of her comrades, nor hear their laughter; for the stifling room had van ished, and in its place was an island dense with beauty and the breath of flowers. On water burnished by the sun, aspens and willows trailed their dark shadows; the lily in the reeds was white ; the skylark in the blue above, all song. Indeed, so real to her was that sweet vision that she heeded not the droning voice of Mareschal. " Since tragedy is the unanimous policy of the Illus trious Theatre," said he, " let the choice of a play be unanimous likewise, for I hold 'The Equitable Judg ment of Charles the Bold ' to be a fit offering." In an instant Beys was on his feet and the wrangling KING PETAUD'S COURT 187 began anew. Madeleine's awakening was ruder, though, than it had been that day upon the enchanted isle, for, instead of the plashing of oars or the tinkling of a lute, there was a look of unconquerable hate in Trinette's eyes to vex her from her dream of paradise. CHAPTER X GRIEFS AND CONSOLATIONS READIER of tongue than Beys, and more persistent, Mareschal was able to force the acceptance of " The Equitable Judgment of Charles the Bold, Last Duke of Burgundy." The allotment of parts, however, was a more contentious matter, Clerin, Bejart, and Moliere each upholding strenuously his right to the title role. With characteristic tact, Madeleine suggested a settle ment of the strife by lot. In the drawing, the coveted chance fell to Moliere. To play a character truly national in a tragedy with patriotism for its theme appeared to him the realisation of his most cherished dreams; and he vowed that he would make Charles the Bold a prince possessed of both dignity and grace, in short, a logical human being. Madeleine feared that the pit would demand a strut ting, ranting hector such as Montfleury would enact, but said not a word, having resolved never to oppose Moliere's wishes again. Only in the school of experi ence would he learn his lesson; and she prayed that it might not be too bitter. The rehearsals were conducted amid grumblings and heart-burnings, those with notable lines to speak being subjected to captious criticism by their less fortunate mates. Moliere was severely slated ; for, like the public, his comrades were unused to naturalism. Refusing to rant, he read his lines unaffectedly, thereby enraging Mareschal, the author. 188 GRIEFS AND CONSOLATIONS 189 " No hero would speak in a manner so commonplace. Man, thou art destroying the rhythm of my best verses ! " " The part has fallen to me by lot," Moliere an swered, with much dignity. " I will play it as I con ceive it." " And ruin my tragedy ! " moaned Mareschal. " You are an ignoramus to recite as you talk. Do you not know that you should roar your verses ? " " I know that when you paint men you must paint from nature." Seeing it futile to argue further with one whose brain was so dense, Mareschal turned upon his heel. Those to whom inconsequential roles had fallen re solved to outdo Montfleury in ranting with the hope that their bellowing would allay Moliere's shortcomings. Trinette Desurlis, however, upheld the young player's art and thereby called down upon herself the curses of her comrades. A martyr to his cause, she sought to win his sympathy, while he, intent upon playing Charles the Bold, paid so little heed to her sighs that her long ing to ensnare him became an absorbing passion. Divining Trinette's artifices, Madeleine wisely held her own counsel; but when it became a question of fur ther expenditure of the company's scanty means, her saving heart forced her to protest. Bent upon having the street before the theatre paved, Moliere summoned his father's friend, Leonard Aubry, pavier to the king. "A pavement twenty fathoms in length by three in width," he asked, " what price, good Monsieur Aubry ? " " Three hundred livres," said the pavier, after much figuring. 190 FAME'S PATHWAY ' 'T is two months' rent of our play-house/' urged Madeleine. " Let us wait until our enterprise is fairly launched." " In the meantime," wailed Moliere, " coaches will founder! The name of the Illustrious Theatre will be anathema ! " " Yet t-t-three hundred livres is an ungodly sum to pay for p-p-paving a street/' stammered Bejart. The pavier, to whom the stutterer's remark was ad dressed, was as genial and benign as on the day when he had taken Moliere's part against his father. His son, who accompanied him, a precocious lad in his teens, cast fond glances at Madeleine's sister Genevieve, but the good man's eyes were blinded to this adolescent ardour by a wish to aid these humble actors. Hemming and hawing, he figured on a slip of paper until the twenty fathoms were reduced to twelve and the price to two hundred livres. " But the payment ? " queried Madeleine. " The payment, my fair lady, may be deferred," said Leonard Aubry, bending his fat body in a flattering bow, " until your charms have brought all Paris to your play-house. Shall we say one-half on Candlemas Day, the other in mid-Lent ? " " Most equitable terms," whispered Moliere. " Candlemas Day," answered Madeleine, " is but twelve weeks hence." " Once our theatre is opened," argued Moliere, in an undertone, "money will flow into its coffers. More over, we have saved from our profits at Rouen a sum sufficient to repay M. Chapelle for the loan he thrust Tipon us. If, at the outset, the receipts of our theatre do not reach our expectations, Chapelle may wait." GRIEFS AND CONSOLATIONS 191 Madeleine recalled the morning at Poissy when she had argued so persistently to induce Moliere's acceptance of this very loan. " What a change in his moral atti tude two short months have wrought ! " she thought ; yet she acquiesced in his desires in the hope of proving to him that her affection was steadfast. Moreover, she had been concocting a scheme of her own for the raising of funds, a purchaser having been found for her house, the one tangible asset she possessed. The negotiations, however, had been conducted with great secrecy, lest Moliere should discover her intent. " If you wish this pavement, dearest," she whis pered, " all my objections vanish; for you are the heart and soul of our undertaking." Pressing her hand fondly, he plunged straightway into the negotiations. " To-day is the twenty-eighth of De cember," he said to Aubry. " The street must be ready on New Year's Day." " A difficult task," answered the pavier ; " yet it shall be accomplished." Notaries were summoned forthwith and a contract drawn whereby Aubry agreed weather permitting to commence work on the morrow and deliver the street before the Illustrious Theatre on the day decided upon, paved in a manner to permit coaches to reach the door easily. When the document had been signed, sealed, and de livered, the pavier turned to Madeleine and said, for her ears alone : " The loss of two hundred livres will not ruin me; so you need not fear that I shall press my claim too severely. I have a liking for this lad ' Mo liere,' as you call him. Had his father followed my ad vice, he would have been treated with more beneficence." 192 FAME'S PATHWAY Madeleine turned on him a face filled with gratitude, such words from a man of his intolerant class having touched her deeply. " You are kind to him, monsieur. I thank you from the bottom of my heart." " Palsanguienne ! " laughed the pavier, patting her cheek benignly, " that lad is all in the clouds." " True," said Madeleine, sadly. " My task is to break his fall when he tumbles to this hard earth." Leonard Aubry looked long into her candid blue eyes. " You are a good girl, Madeleine Bej art. When you have need of a friend, come to me." " I will, monsieur," Madeleine replied, raising her lips for him to kiss. Seeing a grin on his son's face, the pavier blushed to the roots of his grey hair. " You young rascal," he cried, " when you are my age, you may kiss a pretty girl without having to be shriven for it ! " " Sacrebleu, I '11 not wait till then ! " laughed the youth, throwing his arms about Genevieve Bej art with out more ado; but before he could press his lips to her reddening cheek, she boxed his ear soundly and, during the laughter that followed, fled precipitately from his embrace. " Young man," said Aubry, seizing the very ear Gene vieve had boxed, " 't is high time I led you out of temp tation's way ! " When the pavier and his ardent son had departed, the actors voted them a likely pair, and still laughing at the comic exit they had made, followed them in groups of twos and threes. "A stroll ere the hour of rehearsal, Moliere," said Trinette, on the threshold. " We may pass through the galleries of the Place Royale on the way to the theatre. The route is roundabout, but it is delectable." He met her advances coldly. " Nay, Trinette," he said, " I must run through my part." " And strive to forget the fond kiss Madeleine be stowed upon that greasy pavier ! " With this she laughed and slammed the door. Madeleine had left the room in search of her sewing. She found him sitting morosely with his face between his hands. Tiptoeing to his side, she kissed his forehead with the hope of pleasing him. " You are promiscuous with your kisses to-day," he said, coldly, without looking up. Cruelly hurt, she left him, and seating herself by the fire, began to sew in silence. While her hand moved to and fro with stitches, her heart beat dejectedly. She felt she had not merited the rebuff. Moliere felt it too, yet the realisation that he was the culprit only made him the more sullen. Love, long a matter of course, now suddenly was alight, not in glory but in devilry; for, while he sat meditating, phantas- magorial faces to taunt him crowded through a brain weary with worry and endeavour: Modene, galloping in the dust of a grandee's carriage and smiling in scorn of him; village rakes leering at Madeleine; the gallants of Rouen combing their wigs and mocking him; Tri- nette Desurlis bewitching him with her tempting glances; yet hatefulest of all seemed his own moody self repulsing the tender caress of one who had given him her love. Why did he crave a thousand things he could never attain ? Why did the sight of a fat burgher kissing this gentle, helpful Madeleine fire him with un reasoning distrust? If he were not a churl, he would 194 FAME'S PATHWAY throw himself at her feet and crave her pardon: but into his dreams came a longing for some one modest and pure, whose love was given first and wholly to him; so he sat there sulkily sighing for the stars, yet feeling that in all conscience he should be content like other mor tals with his lot. Madeleine's dowdy mother came into the room with her baby in her arms, and there was an end to the malignant silence, for she began to prate of the be nignity of her departed lord, until crocodile's tears bathed her hairy face freely. Unable to forget how fre quently the late court crier had been berated by her mother when alive for a lazy lout unable to support his wife and children, Madeleine marvelled that she had sprung from a source so turbid, yet loved the bereaved Xanthippe because she was her mother. Toward the widow's lament, Moliere maintained a policy of scornful silence. Her baby seemed to him to share his distaste. Instead of echoing her mother's tears, she clutched her sleeve during the gyrations of grief and gazed at him knowingly with her baby eyes. A chubby child of a year's growth, this little Armande Be j art had already a mouth straight and large enough to indicate a will of her own, and a glance so fascinating that he begged permission to hold her in his arms. " Trust my darling to thee ! " stormed Marie Herve, the sound of his voice turning her grief to rage, " a spendthrift ! a prodigal ! " " Mother ! mother ! " cried Madeleine, in protest. " Ay, a spendthrift and a ne'er-do-weel ! " shouted the virago, her little pig-like eyes flashing hate from their fat sockets. " His own father has cast him off ! Now you must needs support him ! Had you not become in- GRIEFS AND CONSOLATIONS 195 fatuated by his worthless dreams of glory, you might have found a protector at court." Madeleine grew white and rose to her feet. " Not another word, mother," she said. But Marie Herve heeded not the look of pained anger blazing in her eyes. " Ah, you think I do not know," she screeched, " that you have sold the very house over your head for money to abet this Moliere's crack-brained enterprise. If ever you attempt to sell my house in the rue de la Perle " Madeleine interrupted her before she could finish the sentence. " Silence, mother ! My affairs concern me alone." Marie Herve caught at her words. " Yes, browbeat me. Such is the gratitude of children." " Mother," Madeleine entreated, " you do not under stand." " I know you are an undutiful child a wanton who has thrown her life away upon a shiftless simpleton." Up and down the room Marie Herve raged, her splenetic nature lashed to the resentment of imaginary wrongs, now topped by the presence under her daugh ter's roof of the man she felt to be the undoing of the family fortunes. Moliere stood aghast before her anger, Madeleine seeking in vain to calm her. Ex hausted of breath, she departed at last, her baby still placidly clutching her sleeve and cooing. When she had gone, Moliere and the girl stood watching each other with pleading eyes, each waiting for the other to speak. He pitied her deeply. Every word the termagant had flung at her must have hurt her bitterly; moreover, the thought that he, too, had injured her, brought shame 196 FAME'S PATHWAY to his heart. Only his own dulness had prevented him from realising the depth of her love for him a love that had prompted her to sell the roof from over her head lest the enterprise on which he had set his heart should fail. He feared it was too late to crave pardon for his cruel rebuff of her; yet, perhaps, if he caught her in his arms, her tenderness would burn anew and destroy the unreasoning longings of his heart. He made a movement toward her. She seemed to divine his intent. " Do not kiss me from pity," she said, with an appeal ing gesture. " No, Madeleine dear, it is from shame," he answered, in a tone of entreaty. " My cruelty was inspired by hateful thoughts I dare not repeat." She placed her hand upon his shoulder and stood looking at him with eyes full of yearning. " You need not repeat them, dear," she said, " for I read them at the moment of the thinking." " When I dared not acknowledge them to myself ! " he exclaimed in astonishment. A faint sigh came from her lips. " I wish I had not the gift of divining your thoughts; for, when I know your love is afar off, I am deeply hurt." " Madeleine," he cried, in vindication, " if my heart has ever strayed, it shall not again ! " " Promise not rashly," she said. " Even now, when out of gratitude I kissed Monsieur Aubry, your brow darkened and your heart turned from me. Fie, Moliere ! Fie, for shame ! " Beneath a flood of golden hair, he saw her pale and beautiful, a faint smile on her curving lips. His head fell forward on his breast. " The thought that you GRIEFS AND CONSOLATIONS 197 had ever loved any one but me was maddening/' he answered, in a voice of mingled apology and appeal. He felt her hand stealing into his. Her voice was tremulous. " And yet that day upon the magic isle, when I told you the story of the past, you vowed that the past was dead. ' Think, dear, of the future/ were the words you whispered furtively, and I believed in you." " And now you doubt me ! " he exclaimed, in a tone of reproach. The sunlight had gone, but in the dusk he saw her tender eyes fixed entreatingly upon him. " No, Moliere ; I understand you," she said, gazing at him long and curiously. " There is cause for my misgivings." " If you mean Trinette " he said, turning his eyes from her. The hand still holding his was cold. She drew it back quickly, and when she spoke there was bitterness in her voice : " Ever since the day you kissed her in my gar den she has pursued you." " So my lady is j ealous ! " he laughed. " That takes a great load of shame from my heart, for I have been jealous, too, ever since the day I first beheld you. No longer need I reproach myself for hating him who once " " Hush, lad," she said, cutting short his words lest they wound her too deeply. " Never more shall he darken your life or mine." She caught his face between her trembling hands. The look into his eyes was long and penetrating. " Ah, let us be frank with each other/' she entreated; " let there be no more suspicions or pangs. We have been at odds, but the fault is mine, for I have opposed your ambition." " Forgive me," said her look and the smile that flew 198 FAME'S PATHWAY with it. Her eyes did not refuse him now; for he drew her nearer, kissed her, and loved her dearly. " I feared your strength was not equal to the task of scaling the heights you longed to reach," said glowing Madeleine. " Never more will I oppose your wishes, for my heart is yours, come what will. I believe in you; and whether this poor enterprise of ours shall suc ceed or fail, I '11 stand with you." " And for my sake," he murmured, " you sold this house that has been yours so long ? " She grew blush-red and supremely ashamed. " A hateful house with hateful memories, Moliere. Let its price pay the forfeit of your loss of confidence." All her sweet nature seemed to hold him spellbound. " Ah, Madeleine, never more will I doubt thee ! " Yet even in that moment, with love awake, there was a strange unquiet in her heart. All that she had suf fered since the coming of Trinette, the slights and jibes of the girl, the suspicions that had kindled from a spark, that day when he had kissed her, to a flame of torment when the jade had daunted her before her comrades all these injuries, capped by the knowledge that love is volatile and he a lover whose passion was tempered by his dreams, made her strangely fearful, strangely help less before the sweetness of that moment. "Protest not too much, Moliere, with those eyes of thine," she said, in a trembling voice; "for they were made to burn with jealousy and insatiable longing." But love was crying between the pair, so in the soft light he kissed her to silence her fears. A smile tried hard to tremble on her lips. Tears filled her eyes and she laughed them away. CHAPTER XI WITH DRUM AND TRUMPET ON New Year's morn grim clouds hung low over the city; and when Moliere awoke to hear the dismal patter ing of the rain, his heart sank, for it was the day of the opening of the Illustrious Theatre. Arduous rehearsals and a burning anxiety lest all should not be ready had made his sleep restless, his awakening late. When he gazed from his window upon the dripping wayfarers, he could have wept for disappointment. Stealing to his side, Madeleine sought to give him courage. " Don't worry, dear ; it cannot rain always." Dejected, he drew his arm about her waist. "But that it should rain to-day of all days ! " he sighed. " When the wine is drawn," she answered, " it must be drunk. Our opening is to-day, rain or shine: the an nouncements have been printed." " And paying the printer took my last livre." She could not restrain a smile. " Now that those livres of yours are gone, you will not be itching to spend them foolishly." When they sallied forth, the clouds had grown lighter ; so their hopes arose. It being the octave of Christmas day, the feast of the Circumcision, anxious eyes peered from misty windows as they passed, seeking if the weather had become propitious for the fete. A few venturesome revellers were frolicking through the streets in j esters' garb, beating the passers-by with straw-bound staves; but the rain kept the multitude indoors till the 199 200 FAME'S PATHWAY sun burned through the clouds. Then casements were opened hurriedly; tapestries and gay stuffs were hung from the balconies; bells pealed merrily; into the streets poured the populace in holiday garb. Gay with glistening copes, gilt images, and swinging silver censers, a religious procession passed. The moist walls echoed with the chanting of its priests and choir boys; but Madeleine and Moliere thought not of its symbolism, for the sun was shining on bright Paris now, and their hearts were gladdened by the sight of it. Passing beneath the arches of the porte de Nesle, they beheld their theatre. The flowery announcements were posted there, and now and then an idler paused to read, but none passed the armed door-keeper. No coaches rumbled on the pavement that had cost two hundred livres. Beside the theatre door, Madeleine saw a lame crone roasting Norman apples over a charcoal fire. The sight of these missiles of the pit made her fearful, though her companion, in his haste, saw them not. In the dingy tiring room, the troupe had assembled. A curtain screened the actresses, but its flimsiness had been penetrated by a few gay comrades of Moliere's school days Jean Hesnault, rhymster and atheist; Bachaumont, penner of mazarinades; Franois Bernier, disciple of JEsculapius; and young Le Broussin, a gay epicurean a merry band, brought thither by loyalty to a friend. When Madeleine nodded to her mates she was hailed by these roisterers too. Beyond the curtain Chapelle's voice resounded in a hearty greeting to Moliere. " Luckily he is back in Paris," thought she ; " for my boy needs encouragement on this momentous day." Shielding herself behind the lid of a chest, she donned WITH DRUM AND TRUMPET 201 her tinselled costume and painted false roses in her cheeks; but the sight of her half-dressed comrades sigh ing beneath ardent glances turned her heart against this ribald life that was her portion till the voice of Moliere made her realise that it was his life too, and she its guardian spirit. "Chapelle," said he, dejectedly, " I cannot repay your loan at present; but once the public has learned our worth " " The money is yours," interrupted his friend. " I only won back the sums those drunken soldiers robbed you of. As for the public learning your worth! Pardi, I counted the occupants of your pit; three pick pockets, two candle snuffers, and an orange girl." Moliere, too, had seen the empty theatre, the deserted street before the door. When he had dressed, he stalked booted and spurred to the stage, there to gaze through the curtains at the gloomy pit. A plumed toque was on his head, a Roman corslet encased his body ; from his shoulders fell a crimson mantle worthy a Gothic chieftain; a modern rapier rattled by his side: yet in spite of this anachronistic finery and steel, he was a timorous Charles the Bold; for his heart sank before the score of ruffians he saw by the candle glare low-browed villains all, cursing, quarrelling, quaffing rossolis of Spanish wine, or fleecing a dunderhead at lansquenet. From the darkness beneath the boxes came a stifled cry the sound of hurrying feet. A purse had been cut, he knew, or a cloak had been snatched. To such rogues and their cullies he must play; yet courage did not fail him, for his friends, emerging from the tiring room, each escorting a smiling actress, brought hope to his trembling heart. FAME'S PATHWAY " They are not miscreants to snatch cloaks or cut purses," he sighed. " They will proclaim the merits of the Illustrious Theatre." His fellow-actors gave him a new cause of anguish. Montfleury owned costumes worth five hundred ecus each ! Would the public countenance those time-stained doublets and well darned hose, those faded plumes and tarnished cloaks hired of a fripper in the arcades of the market-place? Alas! the building of the empty boxes and the unused pavement had left no funds for lavish costumes. His friends seated themselves upon the stage, hearty Leonard Aubry, too, and Fra^ois Tristan de 1'Hermite, author of " Mariamne," with its hateful role of Herod. Where were the masked ladies and plumed cavaliers of the court, the poets and wits of the Hotel de Ram- bouillet? The empty boxes, gaudy in their fresh paint, gave silent answer. Sharing his trepidation, Moliere's comrades gazed de jectedly at the rascally corporal's guard in the pit. Four " master players " tuned their instruments ; a single fat burgher climbed toward the tawdry boxes with his waddling wife and daughter. In the doorway clanked the spurs of two tipsy soldiers. Each pricked the calves of the porter with his rapier as he passed, till the mis erable fellow cried mercy. Gaunt moucheurs lowered the sputtering candles for a final snuffing ere the play began; meanwhile, the hearts of the actors sank deep into their boots. " Our venture is wrecked ere it is launched ! " sighed sebaceous George Pinel. Germain Clerin whined, like a child, that he could not play to such a sparse audience. WITH DRUM AND TRUMPET 203 " Then gather a b-b-better one ! " stammered lean Bejart. " B-b-beys, the old stager, knows the game a procession through the f-f-faubourg with drum and trumpet." " Ay," said Beys ; " a virtue of necessity." To Moliere the plan was broached. A forlorn hope it seemed, still he volunteered to lead it. Divining his qualms, Madeleine held that, as the burden of the lead ing role lay upon him, he should not parade an argu ment that prevailed. With the actors, she marched forth in tarnished finery to gather a crowd with flim-flam and din, while he, alone upon the stage, listened to the beat ing of her drum. Alas ! this theatre, so exalted in his dreams, was only the haunt of knaves and blockheads ; yet his zeal abated not. " I will play with all the ardour in me," he avowed; " play my part as I have conceived it, even should the pit break forth in hisses and jeers; for art is but the doing of a thing well, and acting, if it be an art, is the painting of human nature well." Seeing him dreaming, Trinette stole beside him. Superb wanton, her face was like a southern sky con fronting night: the ruddy flame of her cheeks, for the red colour; soft olive bordering the red; then vivid yel low and amber, softening till the darkness of her sable hair was met; for she was tawny as a gypsy and with eyes as flashing. Seeing the glint of her white teeth, he drew back in self-protection. The curve of her brows broke in a frown. " You avoid me, Moliere. Is it from fear or distaste ? " His heart closed to her, for he felt secure in his love for Madeleine. " It is not from fear," he answered. 204 FAME'S PATHWAY The girl's firm bosom lifted and sank in scorn. " I can be a bitter enemy," she said. But he was in a charitable mood. " Why should you take umbrage ? " he asked. " Do I harm you in being loyal?" " Loyal to eyes that beam on you in the absence of another ! " scoffed Trinette. A flush of wounded pride crossed his face. He had begun to hate this girl, hate her as bitterly as did Mad eleine this girl whose bent was mischief-making. " Tri nette," he said, " I wish no quarrel with you ; but un derstand, once for all, that I shall brook no more of your spite." She laughed, as he turned on his heel, and called him a cat's-paw. Fearing her hold on him was lost, in lightning flashes of her evil mind she strove to formu late a plan that would wound him in his most vulnerable part, his confidence in Madeleine. But he was too occupied with a danger more pressing to heed her hateful glances. To the pit a few more idlers had come, attracted thither by drum beat and trumpet call; but the legs of those already gathered there had grown weary. Ominous shouts resounded through the tennis-court. " Begin ! Begin ! In the name of a thousand thun ders, let the play begin! Pardi; 'tis three o'clock." To lean against the walls and pick their teeth with wisps of straw, the dicers had gathered up their dice- cups; growling, whistling, and stamping their feet, they created a deafening hullabaloo. Pickpockets jostled the few burghers who paced the floor; on soldiers' heels, spurs jingled; the hilts of rapiers were clutched; blades rattled in their scabbards; and all the while shouts of WITH DRUM AND TRUMPET 205 " Begin ! Begin ! " echoed through the cheerless hall till the shrill cries of the orange girl were drowned. Moliere, undismayed, stepped through the curtains to face the restless pit. " Begin ? " he cried in scorn of it. " Why should we begin until we are ready? " Seeing an actor's face beneath the tallow dips sput tering above the stage, the crowd began to jeer; but a light-horseman, wishing to hear this bold young fellow, raised his hand. " Silence ! " he shouted. " Silence ! Let the rogue speak." His eyes flashing, his head thrown back defiantly, Moliere sought to quell the. impatience of that crowd with persiflage. " Play to an audience the half of which has not paid the price of admission? Go, leave your money at the door. Then, if we are ready, we will be gin ; for we have had the patience to build a fine theatre in your faubourg and prepare a play hot from the oven ! " These bantering words changed the humour of the crowd. Seeing the tide of riot quelled, Moliere became emboldened. " This is the Illustrious Theatre," he shouted resolutely, " a playhouse devoted to a noble cause. Here shall we enact tragedies truly national. To an astute and appreciative public we make appeal." It was not a crowd to which a drama truly national would commend itself. " Silence ! Silence ! " rang from many throats. " Leave us to judge of thy merits ! " Drum-beats resounded in the street; idlers sauntered into the pit ; another bourgeois family climbed the stairs. The rabble, in no mood for long-winded speeches, hooted until the lad was forced to slip away and wait until the 206 FAME'S PATHWAY comrades who had paraded for a noble cause had reached the tiring room. At last Beys rapped upon the stage. Upon the out come of that tragedy of "Charles the Bold" Moliere knew his future depended, and his blood ran cold. His friends were settling themselves in their rush-bottomed chairs, the actors waiting for their cues; feet were scuffling, fiddles whining. When the curtain drew apart and he beheld the faces of that audience villainous in the candle light, his heart stood still. " Courage, Moliere, courage ! " whispered Madeleine ; and gratefully he pressed her hand. CHAPTER XII THE DEBUT MOLIERE'S senses were coursing away from him with his coursing blood, yet for an entire act he was obliged to stand trembling while awaiting his cue. The play was a fell tragedy. In love with a worthy citizen's wife, a Burgundian governor forged her lord's signature to a treasonable letter and thereby compassed his death. Un aware of her husband's execution, the heroine pleaded with the villain for his life. For her caresses he would grant this grace, yet she scorned him. Foiled, he plot ted to entrap her. She, escaping his infamous clutches, sought her liege lord, Charles the Bold. Moliere's cue at last. The moment his voice resounded through the vast tennis-court, resolution overcame his fears. He played as he had designed to play, without bombast or fustian played tragedy with the naturalism of Scaramouche and his Italian mimes. When Madeleine, as the heroine, pleaded for justice, and he, the Burgundian prince, commanded his in famous vassal to espouse her in vindication of her in jured honour, the rabble in the pit, the few burghers in the boxes, saw a Charles the Bold moving, gesturing, talking like a human being ; but they craved a blusterer, one to stride and rant and saw the air. The villain was in the hero's power, his infamy unmasked. They wished him to be withered with bellowing scorn, wished the four walls to tremble to the rushing of a mighty cataract of rhythm. 207 208 FAME'S PATHWAY Alas ! that young actor with a nose so big that were it not for the celestial eyes gleaming beneath black, bushy brows he would have been grotesque, turned on the base governor with Gallic vehemence. Words flowed from his thick lips with a volubility that made the verses he uttered sound like impetuous prose. No prince was this, nor hero, but an outraged man, raging as any fellow in the pit would do had he caught a rascally dicer in the act of cozening him. In truth, this was not acting, nay, nor the semblance of it; for even that lean rogue in the villain's role gave dignity to his verses when he did not stutter. So thought the occupants of the pit; and when the curtains closed upon the act, murmurs of disapproval flowed from their coarse tongues. Still there were no hisses or jeers. The lad at least had been in earnest. They would give him one more chance to prove his mettle. Upon the stage less charity was shown even by those who should have been most lenient Moliere's bosom friends. Stretching themselves and smoothing their rib bons, they prated sneeringly of the sad exhibition they had witnessed, prated so loudly that the young actor, standing in the shadow of a curtain, was constrained to listen and be cruelly hurt. " As a poet, I protest," said Hesnault, " against such butchery of verse." Le Broussin combed the curls of his wig. " To think that Jean-Baptiste could be so pitifully bad an actor ! " "To think that when he was a schoolboy," sighed Bernier, " he played Plautus for the Jesuit fathers with some pretence of skill ! " THE DEBUT 209 " And yet to-day/' sneered Hesnault, " he smote the ears of every man having a sense of rhythm." " Morbleu ! " said Le Broussin, " stuffing the backs of chairs with wool is his metier." Bachaumont was playing with the feathers of his hat, smoothing and petting them. " Verses are made to be spoken rhythmically," said he. " They should flow like a river of harmony. An actor's voice should be melo dious; his manner grandiose; he should thrill our hearts with resonance." Chapelle, paying court to La Malingre, turned from her abruptly. " Balderdash ! " he cried. " Acting is the simulation of nature; and when an actor makes us feel, as does Jean-Baptiste, that the role he is portraying is a human being, sacrebleu! he is acting." Laughter greeted these words. " Dost fancy he is a better actor than Montfleury? " " Pardi, a far better actor," said Chapelle, pound ing his ribboned cane upon the stage to accentuate his words. " What saith Fra^ois Tristan de 1'Hermite to that? " asked Bachaumont of the poet, who stood listening. Being a man of discernment, this warm-hearted brother of Modene's henchman, this worthy author of tragedies, arrayed himself with Chapelle; yet, claiming descent from a king's hangman, he must needs stroke his fierce moustache and jingle his rapier to demonstrate his quality. " Acting is indeed the simulation of nature," said he. " Alas ! the taste of the public has been too perverted by rodomontade to appreciate true art. Unless our young friend caters to a depraved taste, his path will be a stormy one, I fear." 210 FAME'S PATHWAY A scoffing reply was on Bachaumont's lips, but he saw that Moliere was listening, so he went toward him, as did Hesnault, Bernier, and Le Broussin, to make a canting show of friendship. Chapelle, shrugging his shoulders as they went, returned to the radiance of La Malingre's eyes. Every disparaging word these sham friends had ut tered, Moliere had overheard. When they began to commend his acting in forced phrases and insincere tones, he longed to denounce them for a pack of base deceivers and hypocrites. Wisely holding his peace, he accepted this prating at its true value; turning away to nurse an injured heart, the belittling words of those who should have been most charitable making him realise more than the murmurs of the pit, that he was waking from his dream of triumph. As he stood alone beneath the sputtering candles rue fully trying to subdue his anguish, Mareschal stepped toward him. " You are ruining my play ! " he shrieked. " In the name of Heaven, let your voice go ! Raise the roof with elocution! Do something to redeem the evil your per- verseness and conceit have wrought ! " Fat Beys beat upon the stage three times. It roused the artist's spirit in Moliere. " Stamp and bellow ? " he thought. " Imitate the bombast of Mountfleury ? Nay> I cannot ! " " Rather than cater to a base public taste," he cried, turning upon Mareschal with scorn, " I '11 let thy play perish, and gladly perish with it ! " .Too white with rage to speak, Mareschal shook the manuscript of " Charles the Bold " in defiance. The cur tains parted. Moliere moved where Madeleine stood and whispered: THE DEBUT " They say that my acting is bad, that I must rant and stride and gesture." " Alas ! this audience sees not that your method is human and real." "Would you have me prostitute my art? " he asked, with an appealing gesture. Convinced that his acting was true, she had seen, too, that it was an offence to the audience, yet she spoke bravely : " Play your role as you have conceived it," she answered, though knowing the futility of flying counter to the public taste. Catching fire from her words, he stepped upon the stage. Valiantly his voice rang through the tennis- court. Yet the current of sympathy an actor feels when an audience is moved, flowed not between him and that surging pit. Whenever a fellow-actor spouted a flowery verse, the coarse faces beneath the flickering candles brightened. He, seeking to convince the louts before him that Charles the Bold of Burgundy was no more than a human being like themselves, was met with sneers, impatient looks, and then with jeers. " The lad with the big nose is no actor ! " " Nay ; his head is as thick as his lips." " He speaks with no more unction than an archer of police ! " " And steps with no more grace than a royal Swiss ! " " A Charles the Bold ? Forsooth, a Charles the Base!" He heard these taunts, he saw the mocking faces. Soon that seething pit must overwhelm him with its hate. Yet he went on playing in defiance of it. The scene was crucial. Forced, in expiation of a sin ful love, to wed the suffering heroine, the villain was then condemned to death by Charles the Bold for his FAME'S PATHWAY traitorous forgery. To the equitable duke came a veiled lady. " The culprit is your Grace's son," said she, " born of my dead sister." Alas, the prince must choose between death to his own son or to his honour! Moliere might have racked his auditor's hearts with ranting grief; yet, being no fustianist, he scorned this histrionic trick. He had studied the character of Charles the Bold had read the memoirs of Comines. To him, the Duke of Burgundy was contained as well as impetuous a hard prince indeed, passionate and brutal, but a prince whose royal pride was intense. A fiery temper he had, for it led him to destruction ; yet Moliere refused to believe that the rash ruler of Burgundy would break forth in loud weeping and beat the air with gestures of woe when brought face to face with a ter rible duty. So reasoned he, and so he played his part. Not like a snivelling, weeping churl, but like a prince who un derstood that royal pride forbade him to betray in the presence of a subject the full depth of his anguish, did he speak these lines: "Ah, justice, fate! Severe are thy commands! Thy mandates urge me to the end where I Must lose a son! Just Heaven! I have done The deed. I weep, but never shall repent!" The audience looked to see the poor Burgundian's chest inflate with the pangs of woe, looked to see his eyes flow with tears and his arms wave pathetically. Seeing upon the stage a Charles the Bold without a scintilla of bluster in his speech a contained prince, striving to control his anguish and speaking with a quiet tremor the lines he should have bellowed the anger of that motley audience broke forth in hisses and jeers; THE DEBUT then, in its rage, it began to pelt the mindless young actor with roasted Norman apples base missiles of its discontent. Pale to the lips, Moliere faced this storm of ignominy, his dark eyes seeming to say, like a wounded deer's, " Strike me, I will not flee." Trembling with both rage and fear, he stood unable to move or cry out. The shame of it, O Lord, the shame of it! moaned his heart; for the disgrace he felt was worse than the sting of the villainous bolts that spattered his finery. Still was he undaunted, and waiting for the force of that vile storm to spend itself, he took his degrading punishment with out a murmur. Seeing him thus obstinate, a musketeer whisked his sword from its sheath. " In the name of St. Genest, patron of bad actors," he shouted, " let 's despatch that fellow!" " Ay, to the stage ! to the stage ! " echoed a dozen hoarse voices. In a trice the mob was in a tumult of mischief with rapiers glistening: toward the barrier separating the stage from the pit surged the rogues who brandished them. The actors cowered. The gentlemen upon the stage sprang from their chairs to draw their weapons. Tri- nette and La Malingre fled screaming to the tiring room. Seizing Moliere's hand, Madeleine tried to drag him away, but he pushed her aside and stood glaring at those angry faces billowing toward him. The cowardice that is in all men pointed a trembling finger at but one thing flight. For an instant the the atre with its sputtering lights reeled before him and was lost in fire. Then the courage that is born of despair FAME'S PATHWAY rose in his fluttering heart a frenzied courage that made him defy his tormentors. Facing them, he drew the sword that dangled by his side. " By St. Genest," he shouted, " I '11 not flee like a coward, nor will I bellow like Montfleury ! " " Spit him ! Spit the rascal ! " cried voices in the rear; but the rogues in front were stayed by the sight of a keen blade glistering on the stage above them. Moreover, that resolute young actor no longer stood alone; for, when he faced the angry crowd, Chapelle sprang forward with his rapier drawn. In bantering tones this generous rake addressed the pit: " Spit the rascal, would you ? Methinks you would sell the bear's skin before you have killed the bear ! " A pair of determined swordsmen to defend an elevated stage a barrier that must be leaped! Pardi, the at tackers might be despatched, man by man ! For such an assault, there was no stomach in that crowd. Content to jeer and hiss, it halted in its onward march. Moliere recovered his senses, his quaking comrades their sang-froid. To taunt the bully-rooks before him, Chapelle cased his weapon. Shaking the laces of his cuffs contemptuously, he struck a haughty attitude and gave the pit a look of compassion. " Laugh away, pit ; laugh away ! " he scoffed ; " but the shoe of ridicule is on your foot. Morbleu, were a human being to rant and stamp and beat the air as you would have my young friend do, in a trice you would clap him in a madhouse ! Fair play, my lads, fair play ! Let this tragedy proceed; and if you like it not, come not again." The cluster of rascals who had been rioting sheathed their rapiers, but their eyes remained sullen. Though By Saint Genest, I'll not flee like a coward," he shouted THE DEBUT 215 Moliere played resolutely, the pit was callous. In vain he listened for hand-claps and approving shouts ; the dull walls were silent or murmured with jeers. Beneath their ranting breaths, his comrades cursed him; Tri- nette's eyes flashed in scorn of him. Backed by a keen weapon, Chapelle's banter had quelled the ardour of the rioters, though not their aver sion. To them, Moliere was a bad actor; and none is more to be pitied than a bad actor playing to an anti pathetic audience. The gloom of the spectators de scended upon the troupe, the gloom of the troupe upon Moliere. Indeed, he needed not the curses of his com rades to tell him that the day had seen a galling rout for him that failure had been spelled in burning letters of shame: yet conscientiously he played until the ignomin ious end, played with all the courage his oppressed heart could summon. Paris marvelling at his talent! The four walls trembling to applause! Alas! how bitterly had that wild dream been dissipated. While the echo of the hisses and groans rang cruelly in his ears, and the rogues who had scorned him filed out of the dismal theatre, he stood alone in the candle light a rigid figure of despair. The actors shrank from him: Bernier, Hes- nault, and the rest tripped to the tiring room: alone of those who would have been generous, Chapelle put f ortli a hand. " Claude, Claude," cried the pitiable lad, " you, at least, are still my friend ! " " He who ceases to be a friend," said Chapelle, " has never been one." Grateful tears welled in Moliere's eyes. Madeleine stealing to his side, drew his arm about her tenderly. CHAPTER XIII EXIT TRINETTE Too crestfallen to discard the shabby finery of Charles the Bold, Moliere sat aloof from his comrades in the tiring room. His last livre gone, his company in straits, all Paris laughing at his ignominious debut! The dis grace seemed to him as ineffaceable as the stains riot had made on the rusty habiliments he wore; and aghast at the thought of it, his heart beat out a dirge of shame and misery. The way to success seemed long and hope lessly barren ; yet of himself he hardly dared think ; for he felt that it was but the ghost of himself watching with haggard eyes those comrades he had led to base defeat. His gay friends hovered near; yet even Madelon Ma- lingre had no eye for coquetry. Le Broussin alone snatched a kiss and that from Trinette's painted lips. While the actresses exchanged their bedizened costumes for dowdy dresses, and the actors washed the charcoal and flour from their sullen faces, Mareschal, the author, paced the floor despondently, the manuscript of his tragedy crumpled in his lean hands. " Alas, if my play could only have been well inter preted! " he sighed, stopping in his dejected walk to glare at Moliere. Chapelle turned from La Malingre to wave his rib boned cane benignly. " Tush, my friend, tush ! Even the best horse will boggle; but the trouble lay with the pit. They who are but little wise are the biggest fools." Fra^ois Tristan de 1'Hermite, who stood stroking his 216 EXIT TRINETTE 217 moustache, flashed scorn at Mareschal too. " I '11 war rant that, if you have another tragedy penned, you '11 come with it in supplication to this Illustrious Company; for hunger, my lad, chases the wolf from the forest." The advocate laughed rudely. "It is apparent that Tristan has a tragedy in his own closet." Drawing himself up stiffly, this proud descendant of a king's hangman spoke with voice and gesture of dis dain. " I have a tragedy, my friend, entitled ' The Death of Seneca.' I am pleased to offer it to the Illus trious Theatre. Moreover, I will beseech my royal patron, His Highness, the Duke of Orleans, to grant his protection to this worthy company." Moliere had listened to this altercation without the spirit to reply to Mareschal's affront. When Chapelle spoke, his heart leaped and his eye brightened. To Tristan de 1'Hermite, he turned a grateful face. Nor was hope inspired in his breast alone: to his comrades the poet's offer shone like a ray of sunshine through the clouds oppressing them. One by one they came sidling up to him to express their gratitude and esteem; then Madeleine addressed the company. " It would be idle," said she, " to deny the disappoint ment this day has brought forth; yet, with generous Tristan and Monsieur Chapelle, I hold that the reason of our disaster lay, not with any one of us, but with our audience a jury of swine." Trinette pished and pshawed. With scorn in her eyes and on her lips, she glanced toward Madeleine. "A jury of swine!" she laughed. " The Circe is not far to seek." In a trice Moliere was on his feet. " I warned you," he cried, " that I would brook no more of your spite ! " 218 FAME'S PATHWAY Trinette tossed her head back in a wild peal of laughter. " Oho, a Charles the Bold at last ! What a pity he did not play the role sooner ! " Anger blazed in Moliere's eyes, anger dusked by con trition. " Trinette ! " he exclaimed, " you have been a trouble maker in this company. I demand that you apologise to Madeleine." There was hate in Trinette's glance, but laughter still lingered on her lips. " Sacrebleu ! but the lad is testy. One would think those Norman apples should have silenced him." The resentment and shame in Moliere's heart seemed to turn to fire and flame in his cheeks. With a hand upon his sleeve, Madeleine spoke to restrain him: "Don't quarrel, Moliere; the jade is not worth a quarrel." In Trinette's heart there was a red fury, but she bridled it with mockery. " ' The j ade' forsooth ! and that from such as you a baggage cast off by an incon stant rake." Madeleine's eyes met her stormily, but she had no voice. Joseph Bejart became her champion; for Moliere was stricken dumb by the girl's hateful words. " Hold thy t-t-tongue, thou h-h-hussy ! " " Nay, I '11 not hold my tongue," cried Trinette ; " for it is your sister who dupes Moliere, not I. Who choused him of his inheritance, I ask you; and who abets him in the belief that he is an actor, when even the riff-raff of a faubourg hisses him? Not I, surely; for I have not been cast aside for a fairer girl." Bejart could only sputter his rage. Madeleine's troubled eyes tried to met Moliere's but failed miserably ; EXIT TRINETTE 219 for the lad was searching the faces of his mates. " Com rades/' he cried, " heed not her malice ! Every word she utters is false ! " But this olive-cheeked Trinette had proved the sharp ness of her tongue and was to prove it again. Con scious that her triumph was afoot, she answered him boldly, her glance resting on the hangman's descendant. " Ask this glib poet who offers his tragedies and the protection of Monsieur, if I speak not the truth. Ask him if that worthless brother of his did not abet his wife, Marie Courtin, in supplanting Madeleine in the heart of the Baron de Modene; and when he has con fessed that, as he must if he perjure not himself, ask yourselves why Madeleine turned from a prince's gen- tleman-in-waiting to an upholsterer's son. If you be not dullards, you will see it was from pique and irot for love of this fatuous comrade who dubs me a trouble maker." The tempest caused by this tirade was not long a-brewing. " As I serve a worthy prince," shouted Tristan, " the brazen quean lies " Moliere shook a clinched fist in the girl's mocking face. " By Heaven, you shall leave this company ! " he cried, his rage trembling from him. The stutterer's lean frame quivered. " Ay, leave it f-f-f orthwith ! One s-s-scurvy sheep is enough to taint a flock ! " Trinette stood with folded arms and contemptuous brows. " Yes, drive me out, when only the truth gives offence ! " she said, her cheeks aglow with defiance. To his fellow-actors Moliere opened his heart and his conscience. " You have heard what she said heard 220 FAME'S PATHWAY her insult Madeleine and me with malicious lies. There can be no harmony in this troupe if her name remains upon its rolls ; yet if a single person here has a word in her defence, let him be heard." Now there were some in that company who secretly rejoiced in Trinette's venom; notably Bonnenfant., who could not countenance the falling of the leading roles to others than himself. To vaunt his rancour, he took Trinette's part. " She only speaks the common gossip/' he shrugged. " Palsanguienne ! it may be true." The anger pent in Bej art's heart since the day of his ducking had brimmed over and was still seething. "If Bonnenfant holds with the j-j-jade," he stammered be tween his yellow tusks, " let him go too, and call it a g-g-good riddance ! " " Oh, I '11 go readily enough ! " said the lawyer's clerk, flashing scorn at him and all the company. "A bank rupt troupe, forsooth, without a tittle of credit! The temptation to remain is not over great." The figure Trinette made, with her shapely head tossed back and her bosom heaving to the rebellious flashes of her eyes, was of consummate rage; yet, in truth, she was more pleased than angry pleased at the opportunity to lash Moliere and see him wince. Though he made a bold show of despising her, she knew that her scorn of him would take malicious root in his impres sionable heart. Seeing in Bonnenfant a ready tool for her malevolence, she drew an arm about his waist. *' Come, my friend," she said, leading him in triumph toward the door; "let us leave this sorry company to wallow in its own folly." Upon the threshold, she paused to grin and flout con tempt of Moliere and his lady-love. " A callow youth, EXIT TRINETTE 221 hissed and pelted with apples, and twiddled with love by a cast-off favourite diantre ! what a spectacle ! " With this, she threw open the door and drew Bon- nenfant into the darkening street. " Farewell, Moliere," she laughed. " Of all the dupes in France, you are the greatest." Seemingly frozen by her words, Moliere stood stiff and silent, his features bearing witness to a stress of shame, yes, even of mistrust; for the wanton had poisoned his heart with misgiving. Divining his thoughts, Madeleine raised a pleading face. What under heaven could she say? Deserted by Modene ! That fact was apparent, and that she abetted Moliere's ambition was but true for she had discerned in him a talent only half suspected by himself; but that her love was a blind to hide her chagrin ah, that was something only her word could disprove! Even if suspicion and jealousy had seared his heart, she must bow her head and endure, for there were the evil facts. A cast-off favourite! That was what she appeared to the world a cast-off favourite plucking a fatuous youth for her own base ends ! Her answer ? There was none could be none; for Trinette had marshalled an array of evidence too strong to be refuted save by time. She must set her teeth hard and, by her devotion, prove it a calumny. So thought Madeleine, as she searched Mo liere's face for a ray of pity. The silence was broken by Chapelle, who, seeing the actors glowering or tittering, struck his cane upon the floor and laughed. ' What a spectacle ! ' she said, and I say what indeed! A comrade is hissed, and some of you rejoice secretly! Another is insulted by a shame less rig and others of you stand there snickering! If 222 FAME'S PATHWAY actors are merely j ealous snivellers, morbleu ! I am glad I am not an actor." True words they seemed to Madeleine, abusive words to those who cowered beneath their sting. The bowels of some chafed over them; but to Moliere they gave the valour to snatch victory from defeat. " Comrades/' cried he, " Monsieur Chapelle has spoken truly. This is not the moment for jealousy or rancour. The day has brought us a defeat, but not a rout. If you hold me to be the cause of our discomfiture, let me retire from the leadership to serve in the ranks." The pusillanimous members of the company stared and knew not what to say. There was a stir among the braver folk and frank avowals of approval. " Loyalty will not pay the tennis master nor the chan dler," said Pinel at last. " Mgrescit medendo." Madeleine looked steadily back into Pinel's question ing face as she answered him. " You have heard Tris tan's generous offer of a play, and his willingness to make appeal to his royal patron in our behalf. I have sold my house. The proceeds are at the disposal of the Illustrious Theatre. I speak the sentiments of my brother Joseph and my sister Genevieve. Their hearts, like mine, are in this enterprise." "Ay," stammered Bejart, " r-r-rather than let a hussy wreck this undertaking, I '11 p-p-pledge my soul to it." "And I too," echoed Genevieve. " Madeleine has spoken brave words," said Moliere, " and they have been bravely furthered by her kin. Let us swear loyalty. If there be more traitors to the cause, let them retire forthwith." He had watched Madeleine eagerly while she spoke, wondering whether she would forgive his doubt of her, EXIT TRINETTE for, by her generous words, his loyalty was kindled anew. If she had been a dalliance, he reflected, she was one no more, by the saving grace of his love and her nobility. One by one his comrades stepped forth to avow their allegiance, some openly frank, others looking furtively about. One by one they left the cold tennis-court, the actors morose and silent, the actresses gayly, on the arms of Moliere's friends. When the last had gone, when he and Madeleine stood alone, she turned to him, saying, " Never shall I forget that you took my part to-day never, dearest, never ! " He whispered to her that she had given him the forti tude to face defeat, and their hands clasped, their lips were near to meeting; yet, even in that fair moment, he seemed to hear through the silent theatre the echo of Trinette's angry words; "Farewell, Moliere. Of all the dupes in France, you are the greatest." The temptation to heed them grew strong within him, even a desire to make a prodigal's return to his father's house; but his faith in himself was still the youthful faith that lessens only with the lessening years. BOOK THE THIRD "Even if love be omitted from Madeleine's relations rvith Moliere, a big and beautiful part remains for her to play beside the great man the part of friendship and advice, of a vigilant protection that mas almost ma ternal." GUSTAVE LARROUMET. CHAPTER I THE TOILS OF USURY " THIRTEEN livres, five sous ! " sighed Beys, gazing at the coins he had arranged in meagre piles. Made thin by a year of tribulation, this poet, once so round, was now a sparse frame for his threadbare doublet. Star ing dejectedly at the day's receipts, he drew his belt tighter to assuage his hunger's gnawing. " Thirteen livres, five sous ! " he sighed once more. " Not a tithe of the chandler's account ! " " Argumentum ad crumenam," lamented George Pinel, with a sickly smile. "Argumentum ad stomachum" sneered Beys; " for if the rent were not in arrears, the bailiffs dogging our steps, those thirteen livres would pay for the filling of our stomachs. When the porter, the rascally fiddlers, the candle snuffer, and the what-not have been paid for this day's representation, there '11 not be enough left to buy a pot of cabbage soup. Even yon worthless dancer must have his forty sous." The one thus stigmatised was Daniel Mallet, hired as an interluder for sombre tragedies; yet even his steps had failed to turn the disastrous tide besetting the Illus trious Theatre since its hapless opening. A year had passed since then a year of fruitless struggle and attendant misery. Only once had the cur rent of failure been stayed, when, as Epicharis, in Tris tan de 1'Hermite's play, Madeleine had won such meas- 228 FAME'S PATHWAY tire of renown that, for a fortnight, coaches rumbled on the pavement costing two hundred livres. Moreover, following Tristan's appeal, Gaston, Due d'Orleans, uncle of the young king, gave his royal protection to these players, though not the pension they so sorely needed. Piqued by this triumph of Tristan, Mareschal had withdrawn in high displeasure, but Nicolas Desfontaines, author of a dozen tragedies, j oined the ill-starred troupe. His lugubrious plays giving Madeleine no such sympa thetic part as Epicharis, the boxes again remained un filled, the rowdy host in the pit dwindling to a cor poral's guard. Debts accumulated the meanwhile, and when the proceeds of the sale of Madeleine's house were exhausted, usurers were resorted to until a debtor's gaol was imminent. The words of Beys brought their la mentable status home to these luckless players. " We may harp on our destitution," said Genevieve Bejart sadly, "but that does not remedy it." Madeleine put down the needle with which she was darning a time-worn costume. " Be of good heart, sis ter," she said. " In a fortnight, we shall move to the Black Cross Tennis-Court. The quays are hard by with boatmen and stevedores to fill our pit. The place Royale, promenade of the bourgeoisie, is near; the great hotels d'Angouleme and Chavigny will bring us fash ionable custom." Beys rubbed his emaciated paunch dolefully. " An admirable situation," said he; "yet it will not fill an empty stomach." " Nor will it prevent Fra^ois Pommier from clapping us in the Grand Chatelet," moaned Pinel, shaking his despondent head. Though she knew not whence succour might come, THE TOILS OF USURY Madeleine spoke with hopeful voice. " Franois Pom- mier is a bourgeois of Paris, not a Jew. He will listen to reason." Beys answered her with a shrug. " There is no reason in a troupe of players managed by a scatter-brained youth and his lady-love." " If Moliere were here, you 'd not dare to say that, Monsieur Beys ! " The speaker was Catherine Bourgeois, who, in all the fifteen months she had been a member of the company, had never been known to revile a comrade or bespeak a quarrel. When he realised that he had been challenged by this meek girl, querulous Beys rubbed his ears to make sure he heard aright. "Dare not! and why not, pray? " he gasped. Catherine Bourgeois sat upon a battered trunk, show ing red stockings in need of darning, and slippers down at the heel. A slim girl, as Beys saw her, pale, chestnut- haired, and of a gentleness that hinted not her daring, save for the fire that glowed in her eyes as they glanced in the candle light. " You dare not, Monsieur Beys, because Moliere is a braver man than you and a better actor. Kemember, too, that Madeleine serves our cause unselfishly. For the asking, she might join the royal troupe. Fie, Beys! when Trinette left the company, spite went with her." Shivering in that cold tiring room, their pinched faces girdling a fireless brazier, were all the actors save two. Moliere was haggling with the tennis master for a can cellation of the lease; Joseph Bejart, having gone to Angers in the spring to have his stammering cured, was travelling with a troupe of strolling players to earn the doctor's fee. The absence of these dominant spirits gave 230 FAME'S PATHWAY Beys courage; yet, while the girl spoke, he could find no sign of sympathy for the rebellion he longed to in cite, till she referred to Trinette. Then a glance of envy crossed the face of La Malingre. " Trinette had the good sense to leave this luckless troupe," she declared. " Thy words belie thee ! " cried Catherine Bourgeois ; " Trinette was driven from this troupe by one accord." La Malingre frowned her pretty forehead into scorn ful furrows. " Lucky girl ! for is she not a member of the Troupe du Marais? Morbleu! since the day of our opening, modish justaucorps and manly hats with plumes have been as scarce in our tiring room as silver livres." Beys could contain himself no longer. Nodding sat isfaction and rubbing his hands, he smiled and cleared his throat. " You see, my friends, you see ! Though we drove Trinette away, she is in clover. For my part, I have had enough of chasing rainbows." Pinel the scribe echoed these rebellious sentiments. " It was a sorry day for me when that lad Moliere in duced me to forswear scrivening. Alas! my fingers are now too numb to ply the pen. Multa docet fames! " Though Clerin felt the truth of the argument, he merely sighed, he, at least, having a loyal heart. Daniel Mallet, the dancer, paid forty sous when he pirouetted and thirty-five when he did not, was content with his lot ; so he gave no sign of approval. Having a thirteenth tragedy to inflict upon his luckless comrades, Desfon- taines, the new member, was averse to sedition ; while the players hired to fill the ranks thinned by the defection of Bonnenfant and the absence of Bejart felt themselves to be without the right to protest so long as their meagre salaries were forthcoming. THE TOILS OF USURY 231 Seeing the rebellion he had incited on the point of fizzling, Beys began its propaganda anew: "We have failed ignominiously ; and if we move across the Seine, we shall only add to our obligations with no more new hope of requital." Madeleine realised the wisdom of this contention, yet dared not admit it openly. Since the departure of Trinette, her love for Moliere had become a thankful passion, glorifying him with its warmth a faith behold ing in him genius where others found only folly; so the matter in hand, as she saw it, was to undo the effect of Beys' treachery as speedily as possible. " To abandon our enterprise will not pay its debts," she said, in that cheering voice of hers. " Each member of this company has signed its covenant. To betray that trust is to become a vile traitor." There was some murmuring at this, till Catherine Bourgeois spoke to much purpose. " I, for one, shall remain loyal," she said in a positive tone. " And I," echoed Clerin in a fluttering voice. Pinel hung his head and was silent. Beys vented a grunt or two and shifted his feet. His mouth was twitching, and he would have voiced sedition afresh, had not Franois Tristan de 1'Hermite burst into the tiring room, the fierceness of his moustache tempered by the radiance of the smile beneath it. " Good news, my friends ! " he exclaimed exultantly. " His Highness, my patron, commands you to the Lux embourg for a fete he will give some six weeks hence. I am to pen a ballet; you, his players, are to inter pret it. The troupe of the theatre du Marais he has commanded too; so it behoves you to put it to shame." FAME'S PATHWAY Here was a break in the gloom. Smiles replaced frowns; depressed hearts beat hopefully, the prospect of appearing at court gladdening all save Beys. " Thy royal master is notorious for his stinginess," he said. " What boots it if we play at the Luxembourg and we be not paid ? " Cloaked and spurred, Tristan drew himself up proudly. " Beys, thine ears are as long as thy face, else thou wouldst see that, whether this troupe be paid or not, its credit will be renewed, once it has appeared at court; and credit is as necessary to a debtor as wine to a drunkard like thyself." With a coward's self-concern, Beys recoiled before this poet with a rapier dangling beneath his cloak. " Alack," said he, " would that I had the price of a flagon ! " While her comrades laughed at the discomfited wine- bibber, Madeleine went toward the girl who had so bravely defended her. " Catherine Bourgeois," she said, " I owe you a debt of gratitude. I cannot thank you too sincerely." The girl's eyes met hers tenderly. " I would be your friend," she murmured, seizing her hand impulsively and pressing it to her lips. Tears brimmed in Madeleine's eyes as she kissed her. " My dear child," she said affectionately, " I am very grateful for your friendship." The girl clung to her fondly. " They are jealous," she whispered ; " Madelon Malingre, I mean, and that scurvy Beys jealous of your talent, jealous because they realise that you are far above them. Often I have had to listen when they talked against you, and be cause I was the youngest, I have held my tongue until THE TOILS OF USURY 233 they thought I had none; but to-day I could hold it no longer. Ah, Madeleine Bejart, if ever you have need of a friend " Here her voice faltered, for she was an emotional creature schooled to diffidence by the fear of disclosing the depth of her feelings. Being herself sympathetic, Madeleine understood all she had said, all she had left unsaid. She was on the point of replying, but Mo- liere entered the tiring room, and his dejected face told her that he bore ill-tidings. In his wake came Franois Pommier, the usurer, and she saw by the sneer on the coarse lip curling beneath his hooked nose that his pres ence boded no good. Worn frail by the strife of a year, Moliere let his head fall upon his breast. " Comrades," he said in a despondent voice, " Maitre Gallois agrees to cancel our lease, but Monsieur Pommier here demands immediate payment of the moneys we have borrowed and will listen to no argument of mine." Twisting and tangling his lean hands together, Pom mier spoke in tones both wheedling and threatening. " Did the matter concern me alone, I might be mag nanimous, but I represent the Sieur Baulot, who has acted through me. The loan is due; he demands pay ment. As his agent, I am forced to exact it." An inveterate gambler, Tristan de 1'Hermite was prac tised in the art of hoodwinking creditors. Folding his arms haughtily and rattling his spurs, he came to Moliere's aid. " Hold thy tongue, Pommier, until this troupe has fulfilled the command I bring it to appear before Monsieur, then talk of payment for thy sordid loans." But Fra^ois Pommier knew this gambling poet of FAME'S PATHWAY old. " Pish ! " said he, " pay thine own debts, ere thou ride so high a horse." Bristling his moustache, Tristan drew his rapier partly from its sheath. " For a denier, I 'd spit thee ! " he muttered between his teeth, then slammed the blade home with a ring. " Nay, on second thought, I '11 not tarnish good steel with blood so base ! " Seeing no advantage in a quarrel, Moliere, dispirited from wrangling and sick at heart, yet gladdened by Tristan's news, turned to Pommier with a gesture of appeal. " In view of this royal command, will you not extend the time of payment ? " Pommier's brow darkened. " I '11 not be put off with empty words. Thy father is well-to-do. If he will not pay thy debts, then go to gaol." Closing his eyes to the vision these words had formed in his overwrought mind of a stern father's cruel re buff, the young actor drew a hand wearily across his forehead. " Rather than appeal to him, gladly will I go to gaol," he sighed, between the throes of his anguish. But the usurer could see no profit in incarcerating the lad save as a last resort. " Thy friend, Monsieur Chapelle, is both rich and generous," said he, seeking a loophole. "Alas, I cannot turn to him, even were I so inten- tioned, for so strong a hold has the wine-cup taken of him, that seldom is he now of a mind to tell whether a plea be just or not. Poor Chapelle! his plight is even sorrier than mine." His comrades watched anxiously the stooping, shuffling man opposed to him. He, searching for a ray of pity, looked at Pommier ; but Pommier was looking at the ground. THE TOILS OF USURY 235 " If you will assign to me the daily profits of your theatre," said the usurer, " I will accept a note for three hundred livres to acquit your minor obligations, and for one of seventeen hundred, I will accommodate the Sieur Baulot with the five hundred livres he demands." " Seventeen hundred livres for five hundred ! " ex claimed Moliere. " Such usury is damnable ! " " Tut, tut, my boy. I said a note, not ready money. The Sieur Baulot and I stand to lose eleven hundred, an we be not secured ! " Moliere saw that this tender was only a tightening of the noose; yet, having been the organiser of the Illus trious Theatre, having shaped its policy and incurred its debts, he felt that, if any one must suffer for its delinquencies, it should be he, since he had been at fault. Thinking in this way, he gulped some courage into himself. " Pommier," he said, " I am prepared to re quite, by the tender of my person to the custody of the law, the debts we cannot pay." Now the usurer was quite willing to imprison him, but not while there was a chance to squeeze a few livres from his comrades. He knew that some of them had friends or kinsfolk to whom they might turn in their distress knew that Madeleine's mother still owned a house in the rue de la Perle, and though it was mort gaged, he could see a profit in the equity. " Not so fast in thy self-immolation," he answered, an evil grin spreading over his blotched face. " A gaoling, yes but not for thee alone." Turning, he addressed the company. " Each of you who does not provide a bonds man by noon to-morrow to sign the obligations I have demanded must take the consequences of the law." Germain Clerin was stoical, and Catherine Bourgeois ready to accept any fate that was shared by Madeleine, 236 FAME'S PATHWAY but to Pinel, Beys, and Madelon Malingre, the usurer's threat came like a cruel thunder-clap from a sky made serene by Moliere's offer to bear the brunt of their troubles. " The consequences of the law ! " they ex claimed, trembling at the lips and gripping each other by the arm to steady themselves against the apprehen sion these words inspired. Pommier turned his bent body toward the door. " Ay," said he ; " in this case, a soj ourn in the Grand Chatelet at the will of the civil lieutenant. My friends, I bid you good day." CHAPTER II THE ANONYMOUS NOTE AFTER the usurer left the tiring room, the players sat there moodily nursing their misery, even Madeleine be ing unable to find a cheering word. Knowing the hor rors of the gaols and seeing no escape therefrom, Beys stealthily withdrew his lessened form, with a firm re solve to spend, in a farewell night of revelry, the thir teen livres he had pocketed during the consternation caused by Pommier's threat. Tristan spoke hopefully as he went. " That pinch- fist dare not gaol you," said he, " you, the troupe of His Royal Highness ! " But his words fell upon deaf ears, for these miserable players had just seen the redoubtable poet routed by the very scrimp he flouted. In the for lorn hope of finding bondsmen, the others followed on his spurred heels, till all had gone except Madeleine and Moliere. Loath to leave her new-found friend, Catherine Bourgeois only went at her intercession, Mad eleine wishing to have a word with Moliere singly. When they were alone, she laid a hand gently upon his shoulder. " Is there no way ? " she asked. " None that I see," he answered, overcome by his wretchedness. With pleading eyes and lips, she leaned toward him. " Surely your father would not see his first-born im prisoned for the sake of the family honour, if for nought else." 237 238 FAME'S PATHWAY " Never will I appeal to him ; never, while I live ! " " I shall find a way/' she answered, wrapping her threadbare cloak about her and turning toward the door. Her beauty was enhanced by love of him, her fairest possession; but he saw not the devotion that brightened her as she went forth alone, since he, too dispirited to follow, was gazing at the floor. For a long time he sat with his face buried despond ently between his hands; for, try as he might, he could see no rift in the clouds besetting him. A feeble, storm- tossed craft he seemed, over-fraught with ambition; yet knew that idle metaphors would not alter his state. Though the gloom encompassing him seemed im penetrable, and the Chatelet his ultimate fate, like Madeleine, he must find a way. Inspired by the knowl edge of her unselfishness, he went forth into the darkened street. Through ill-lighted Paris he threaded his way, the December cold piercing him to the marrow. For the rascals whom he passed in the night he had a fellow- feeling vagabonds like himself, crushed and pitilessly borne down by fate. Passing the great Hotel de Nevers, he heard the strains of violins. Thinking of the cav aliers and ladies measuring idle steps whilst he and other hungry outcasts shivered in the winter's night, he longed to right the wrongs oppressing France. To hold the noble libertines and hypocrites up to pub lic scorn would wound them in their pride, he mused; while the people, finding them mere mortals, would no longer fear and reverence them as demigods. A glorious work indeed, to paint a truthful picture of humanity! Would that he had the courage and skill to lay bare to mankind its foibles and vices ! THE ANONYMOUS NOTE 239 But dreams such as these would not requite Pommier or allay his own misery, so he hastened his steps in search of Madeleine. At their humble lodging he learned that she had gone elsewhere; bethinking him of her mother's house in the rue de la Perle, he crossed the pont St. Michel. In the rambling streets of the Cite, he came upon a haunt of his student days the Fir-Cone Tavern. A drunken man staggered forth, followed by a ruffian, who felled him with a cruel blow and deftly stripped him of his cloak and wallet. Seeing the man thus robbed lying prostrate in the slimy street, Moliere hastened to his side. By the misty light from the tavern window, he saw with horror that this drunkard was Chapelle, his open-handed friend and benefactor. " Claude, Claude ! " he cried, in an effort to rouse him; but the young man was in a state too maudlin for him to do aught but blink his besotted eyes. Moliere placed him upon his tottering legs and led him staggering toward the quarter where he dwelt. Alas," he thought, " to think one so lovable should be the victim of a passion so dire in all France, there is none more generous or brave ! " Ah, how sadly had life changed since the time when Chapelle and he were students of Gassendi! To the reeling friend beside him, the epicureanism of the master had become un bridled indulgence; while the world, with its pitfalls, was fast making of himself a cynic or at least a Stoic. But Chapelle's staggering left scant time for medita tion, and Moliere was well nigh exhausted when the house he sought was reached. The servant who answered his knocking shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, for so immoderate a tippler had his master become that he 240 FAME'S PATHWAY was known far and wide as the greatest drunkard of the Marais quarter. To leave his friend in such a state rent Moliere's heart; yet he knew he must hasten on lest he lose trace of Madeleine. On the threshold of her mother's house he paused, the fear of Marie Herve's tongue strong upon him. Louis Bejart, her young son, came toward him with his finger on his lips. " Madeleine is with mother and Genevieve," he whispered, " and they are having a querulous time. Morbleu ! you should have seen mother's rage when Madeleine told her that she must mortgage our house to keep all of you from gaol. ' An indolent scamp/ she dubbed you, ' a worthless scapegrace.' Take my advice and go not near her." The boy tiptoed away, leaving Moliere tremulous. The remains of a supper lay before his famished eyes. Pouring out a beaker of wine, he drained it, then fell to eating. Thus fortified, he took new hope. Should he permit Madeleine to jeopard her mother's sole possession for this luckless venture, he asked himself; though not without many a qualm at his own timidity. Before he could arouse sufficient courage to face Marie Herve's ire, her little daughter Armande toddled into the room. No longer a baby in arms, she was now his fast friend; for, whenever her mother confided her to Mad eleine's care, he became the one to quell her tantrums by making of himself a hobby horse, a bear, or any animal her childish fancy dictated. His little sweetheart he called her, and when she came toward him, her chubby arms outstretched and her little eyes beaming upon him provokingly, he caught her in his arms and swung her upon his knee. THE ANONYMOUS NOTE " Naughty Mo-mo," she lisped, " naughty Mo-mo." " And why, pray, am I naughty ? " he asked. " 'Cause Mo-mo no love Armande as much as he love Mada." " You are not as big as Madeleine," he protested. " There is not as much of you to love." She stared at him with penetrating baby eyes. " When Armande big, Mo-mo love Armande much ? " she asked. " Yes, little sweetheart, yes," he cried, kissing her wilful lips ; " that is, if you mind me in everything." " No ! no ! " cried the child, shaking her curly head emphatically. " Well, we sha'n't quarrel about that now," he laughed, " because we 're going to ride a cock-horse." Throwing one leg across the other, he trotted her vigorously upon his outstretched foot and tried to ^fathom the little, sparkling eyes that looked so persist ently into his own, so mystifying did they seem to him, iso perverse and yet so lovable. He longed to make of this dear little girl a gentle, God-fearing woman such as his own mother had been ; but the opening of the door brought this generous dream to an end, as Marie Herve came screeching from the adjoining room with Madeleine in her frumpish trail. " There he is, the runagate, corrupting my baby as he has corrupted you but that he shall not ! " she cried, seizing the child, who protested with vigorous kicks and screams. Madeleine placed an anticipatory hand on Moliere's arm. "Look at him sitting there placidly," hissed the shrew, " after stealing the roof from over my head to keep his FAME'S PATHWAY worthless carcass out of gaol ! A cockatrice, as Heaven is my witness ! May the devil get his soul ! " Pale with rage, Moliere sprang to his feet. " Madam, I am no party to this plan to dispossess you," he replied savagely. " Listen to the hell-hound ! " laughed Marie Herve. " Nay, mother," protested Madeleine ; " it is true. Unless Genevieve and I obtain sureties, we must go to a loathsome prison. Surely you would not willingly see your children brought to such a pass ! " "A house sold over your head, and now one over mine, because this rogue would be a play-actor when he was born to be a jerry sneak/' whined Marie Herve. " Madam ! " cried Moliere, quivering with anger. " Come," said Madeleine, fairly pushing him away, it being clear to her mind that her mother would sign the bond. To quiet him was no easy matter, for he was gesticulating wildly and endeavouring to reach the door she had pulled to in his face; but she had great self- possession and a practical mind. " Dear," she said, " perhaps if you had borne eleven children and buried six of them, and your husband too, your tongue would be unruly. Before passing judgment upon her, pray remember that I asked you to beg assistance of your father." His sense of justice forced him to admit the fairness of this plea, even to acknowledging, as they walked through tortuous Paris, that, in the matter of parents, the advantage was hers. The dark stairs they climbed at last seemed to them unduly long, their lodging a joyless, dreary place; for the day's events had left them disheartened. In vain effort to lighten their gloom, Madeleine hummed a tune, as she passed to and fro; but Moliere, sinking upon a rickety chair, sat gazing at the cheerless tallow dip burning upon the table beside him, until his wearied eyes fell upon a note, the edge of which had been placed beneath the candlestick. Seeing that it was addressed to him and in a feminine hand, he removed it stealthily while Madeleine's back was turned and read by the flickering light these words: "Modfene is in Paris." There was no signature, no clew to the sender, and he crumpled the paper angrily, these insidious words recalling to his tired mind the picture of a curled and bewigged cavalier gazing at Madeleine from his seat upon the stage recalling the sneer upon his lips, the look of surfeit in his eyes. It seemed to him, while she hummed her cheerful tune, that he could never quite forget the past she had avowed was dead; for in his tortured heart there was a longing for a love untarnished by memories such as these a longing to be cared for by some one as pure and innocent as little Armando Bejart had seemed to him this day. Yet he was quick to see the egotism and injustice of these vain desires; and fearful lest Madeleine should suspect the treachery of his heart, he went to her quickly, clasped her round the waist, and after he had kissed her, showed her the crumpled note. " Look, dear," said he. " Who could have written this?" " Trinette ! " she answered, with a woman's intuition ; seeing a poisoned menace in the note, she hid her face upon his breast lest he divine her fears. CHAPTER III TRINETTE RE-ENTERS FRANCOIS POMMIER was provided with bondsmen of doubtful solvency Marie Herve signing the obligations of Moliere and her daughters. The daily profits of the play-house were assigned the usurer as well. Alack, had there been daily profits, the Illustrious Theatre had been in a fair way to prosper. Its predicament was sore. The Black Cross Tennis-Court, over by the St. Paul gate, remained as empty as its predecessor the stevedores and boatmen, the bourgeoisie and gentlefolk holding aloof. While striving to please a soulless public, Moliere fretted and fumed and almost lost heart, yet remained so loyal to his muse of tragedy that even Desfontaines was at a loss for gloom to sacrifice upon her altar. As Trinette crossed not his path, nor Modene either, Mad eleine was content to see him pine for his ideals, while pitying him, in the hope that eventually he might awaken from his fatuous dreams. Meanwhile, the discouragement of fellow-actors grew until the return of Bejart brought a measure of hope to them. His stammering was unallayed, yet so was his loyalty; and when he learned that Beys was inciting rebellion, he cursed him for a traitor. Seeing that craven quake in his time-worn shoes, Pinel took warning. Obtaining some copy work from an advocate, he kept the wolf from his rickety door. Germain Clerin pawned his crimson boot-hose. 244 TRINETTE RE-ENTERS 245 In these, and divers other straitened ways, the souls were kept in the bodies of these actors until Tristan de 1'Hermite brought the grateful news that Monsieur awaited their coming at his palace of the Luxembourg. With hearts beating hopefully, they tramped across the Seine, each actor bearing shoulder-wise upon his staff. a bundle of faded finery. Madeleine alone was depressed, for the Marais play ers were commanded, too, and their coming meant the coming of Trinette. Yet when she saw the lights of the palace gleaming through the leafless trees of its superb garden, her heart beat excitedly, for the prospect of appearing at court was exhilarating even to her. A stage had been erected in the salle des fetes. There, in Tristan's ballet, Monsieur himself was to dance, assisted by gay coryphees from his dissolute court. The verses accompanying the entrees were to be recited by the Illustrious Theatre; but first, the Marais players were to give a comedy. Ladies in coifs and point lace collars, cavaliers with flowing curls and siken justaucorps! the audience Moliere saw while peering between the folds of the arras screening the temporary stage from view was in deed a gay medley. In the glow of a hundred candles sat Monsieur, the royal libertine and traitor, his base soul hidden behind his spiritual eyes. Beside him was his austere wife, anxious for his moral welfare. When she reproved him for his intention to dance in a ballet with low-born actors, he whistled a tune and pulled his elf-locks derisively. These antics, however, brought no smile to the imperious lip of La Grande Mademoiselle, his Minerva-like daughter; for she was too elevated in the belief that she was born to wed a king to smile in 246 FAME'S PATHWAY the presence of her father's guards inferior beings wearing the velvet bandoliers of his livery. At Monsieur's feet a greyhound lolled upon the par quetry; behind the prince stood courtiers, whose enamoured eyes gazed meaningly at frail dames d'honneur, for, while the violins, the lutes, and harpsi chords played sensuous music, the scented air was thick with love darts. But Moliere, though he whiffed the perfumes, thought not of the lovers' trysts a-making. Gazing through the arras, his eye fell on the Baron de Modene, standing beside his noble master, young Henry of Lorraine, fifth Due de Guise and most incontinent of peers. A blush of hate coloured the young actor's face. Supercilious Modene, he thought, in silks and brocades; he, Moliere, in shabby tinsel, waiting to amuse for a pittance the prince whose welcome guest was that arch enemy of his! Alas, he, the bourgeois lad without the right to wear a sword, had sunk to the state of a prince's fool in motley for the sake of her whom that base libertine had tarnished with his passion! No wonder he hated Modene; for was there ever a jealous lover who could gaze upon the rifler of his love without a tinge of murder in his soul? But this agony of his was tempered by a purring voice. Painted and powdered, dressed and coifed for the comedy, Trinette stood beside him, her head full of mis chief, her heart high in mettle. " An old comrade's greeting, Moliere," she said, being very sure in her mind that he would accept a civil amende for their last angry parting. Indeed, his hate was too concentrated on Modene for it to extend to her, and glad of a respite from it, he turned toward the olive- TRINETTE RE-ENTERS 247 cheeked girl without a bit of rancour for her scorn of him. " To my greetings I add compliments/' he answered gallantly ; " since never did you look more charming." Having learned that the brazen way was not the winning way with him, she forced a shy look to her hardened face. "Alack, did I not know the flattering tongues of men," she smiled, " I might believe that I seemed pleasing in your glance ! " Again he saw her, beautiful and ardent as on that day in the forest near Poissy, but the frank blue eyes of Madeleine were not near to shame him. " You were never so pleasing, Trinette," he faltered. " And you were never so wise, Moliere," she whis pered softly, " for at last you have begun to find the way." Seeing him puzzled, she left him, saying as she went, " The way to the garden, I mean the garden of love ! " Breathing air made fragrant by her perfume, he gazed at her lithe form receding in its clinging dress; and while he stood in the wings to watch her in the comedy, a recreant voice within him whispered of treachery. Madeleine stole beside him. Trinette's bold glances angered her, but she said not a word. Silenced by contrition, Moliere strove to quell the wild desires awakened by the slender wanton: but, when the comedy in which she played had ended in a burst of applause, shame of another sort filled equally the hearts of these discordant lovers; for Monsieur, coming on the stage to dance in the ballet, looked askance at Moliere's threadbare doublet, his noble corps de ballet tittering at Madeleine's faded dress. The Marais troupe had splendid costumes; theirs, alas, were hired frippery! 248 FAME'S PATHWAY Convinced that a gorgeous audience was eyeing them with scorn, the unhappy pair lost heart and, when the fiddles had crooned the music of the first entree, began to recite Tristan's verses like trembling tyros. Their comrades, quite as conscious of their shabbiness as they, grew frightened too, and vied in tremulous elocution, until even Daniel Mallet's strenuous steps could not avert the ballet's doom. When the curtain fell, the yawning courtiers sur reptitiously voted the ballet a fiasco without a redeeming source of merriment save Monsieur's gouty steps. Too crestfallen to berate one another, the actors of the Illus trious Theatre slunk away, grieving that failure had again been written on their tattered, drooping banner; but in the sight of the collation a triumph of luxurious Monsieur, seen through a door ajar their shame be came hungry longing. Golden plates and shimmering candles, snowy napery and savoury dishes! Their empty stomachs gnawed in vain. Seeing whole platterfuls borne away untouched poor Beys wept outright. So copious were his tears that, through the mist of them, he failed to see the acme of the feast a troupe of dancing pages, each bearing, as he pirouetted, a basket of sweetmeats trimmed with gold tissue and English ribands. Not till the violins began to play a saraband, and crimson hose to flash above the tops of high-heeled slippers, did Beys learn that he had missed so pleasing a sight. While vain exquisites, in velvet small-clothes fringed below the knee with lace, bowed in the stately measures of the dance to languishing precieuses, his comrades told the empty poet of the dainties those pages had borne. " Sacrebleu, and a thousand thunders ! " moaned he, TRINETTE RE-ENTERS 249 " if this feast of Tantalus continues, I shall end my miserable life by rushing on the pike of yon Swiss guard." But this dire step was not taken. Beys and his com rades and the troupe of the theatre du Marais, too, were regaled by the remnants of the collation they had viewed so covetously. No untouched dishes left their table; nor did they sup alone. Glad to leave their languid partners in the dance, Guise, the profligate, Modene, his satellite, and a dozen gay sparks of their semblance, came trooping from the ball-room to bask in the light of bolder eyes than they had left. In the ardent looks of the actresses who greeted them, there was no shyness and slight hesitancy. Only Madeleine's glance was lowered, and that to the gaze of Modene, for the sight of him chilled her heart. Through downcast lids she watched him trip to Tri- nette's side, and thought it a meet place for him, until Guise, his patron, elbowed him laughingly away in an effort to kiss the minx. Trinette gave him the painted roses in her cheeks but not her lips ; and when he fought for them, she boxed his ducal ears; for, having cal culated the advantage to herself of an admirer of his exalted state, she, being versed in coquetry, played the role of indifference. Marotte Beaupre, of the Marais, liked not her tri umph nor did Moliere, for the witchery of sex had taken a sudden and unreasoning hold on him and he felt almost a lover's jealousy as he watched the dissolute Due de Guise kissing her pretty cheek. Madeleine saw the resentful look in his eyes, and her face paled. Modene, passing at the moment, stooped 250 FAME'S PATHWAY and took a hand from her lap to kiss. " How does my lady ? " he asked. She looked up startled, the sound of his voice recalling a feeling she had long tried to dull. The rims of his eyes were thicker and redder, but else he was as ashen the curl of his lip as arrogant. Still, she could not thoroughly hate him, a little grave being the one fond link in a chain of cruel memories binding her to him. " I do well, Remond and you ? " she said in answer, her compassion rising to meet his superciliousness. " Morbleu ! " he replied, while pouring for himself a glass of wine after filling hers, " as for me, I do famously; but life in the comte Venaissin has begun to pall: I shall be off to the wars in the spring." "And Marie Courtin?" asked Madeleine, with a Woman's pardonable curiosity. " Marie Courtin ! " he shrugged. " Pardi, I thought by the gift of a cottage to settle that fair lady and her husband contentedly in the comte; but when I came to Paris, they followed me." Smiling, she raised her glass to her lips. " Jean- Baptiste de 1'Hermite too ! " she exclaimed. " Morbleu, yes. Yet knowing Richelieu to be dead, he is surely aware that I have no need of him in further ing plots against His Eminence." She looked up, amused at the recital, and went on sipping her wine. " He is a leech, Remond ; you will never shake him off. As for his wife, I pity her," she added, with a touch of sadness in her voice. Quietly he placed an arm about her waist, and before she could put it off, said, " You are not like Marie Courtin; you never tagged at my heels." She heard the falter in his voice and her face changed, TRINETTE RE-ENTERS 251 grew softer, more tender, but her pride rose in time. " It is too late," she answered quite calmly; "too late to make an honourable amendment." " Pouf ! " said he. " Judging by the tarnished tinsel of your dress, the high horse you ride will soon throw you." " I have not yet cried out for help," she said, in the same measured voice in which she had answered him upon a certain starlit night when he stood by her win dow taunting her. She had tried since then to win her little triumph in the only arena open to a woman like herself tried hard, though stunned and bruised; yet courage was failing her because she saw a face with godlike eyes pensive beside a tawny girl who was point ing at her in derision; for when Modene took his place beside her, Trinette had left the ardent Due de Guise, to whisper with a tongue darting, like a viper's, forked and poisoned from a vile little head: " Look, Moliere, the proverb is true: to the first love we ever return." The cavalier's arm had stolen about Madeleine as Trinette spoke, and Moliere's eyes grew dim and misty at the sight of it. A keen pain was in his heart, sharp as a knife thrust. " Revenge is sweet," said the girl, " and oh, so near, if you would only look ! " As he said not a word, she shrugged her pretty shoulders and returned to Guise, leaving the young actor to glare at Modene until it seemed as if his feverish eyes must burn their sockets out. Monsieur came, pulling his locks, a leer on his long, oval face ; but when he saw Moliere he frowned. " There is the dolt," he said, turning to Tristan de 1'Hermite, who followed obsequiously in his train; then to the 252 FAME'S PATHWAY young player he addressed these harsh words : " Your performance this day was pitiful. The troupe du Marais put you to shame you and your gawky com rades. Understand, young man, that you are no longer in my service." As his royal master turned upon his heel, Tristan raised his shoulders deprecatingly as if to say that the fiasco was not of his making. The cold manner of the audience, the triumphant sneers of the rival troupe, had told Moliere how wretched was the performance he and his comrades had given. Now that the prince's anger had burst, it seemed to him that his very soul was dead the soul of his am bition. Cruelly dismayed, he turned and walked to a corner of the room and sat there alone, his face turned toward the revellers, his eyes not seeing them. Loathing himself far more than his misfortune, he looked the future in the face, and it gave him back a perverted image, for the world was awry his heart seemed only a wretched canker. Black thoughts filled his tired mind. In swarms they came flocking over him hateful, winged vultures to screech the bitter word failure on the scented air he breathed. To the earth they beat him with their dark pinions to the desert, where he lay parched and bruised. One of his thoughts was of a dangerous sweetness ; for, while he dwelt upon his blighted dreams and Madeleine's waning love for so his jealousy distorted her sweet loyalty he seemed to stand hand in hand with another upon a brink, and when she called, he leaped, full of recklessness, into the swirling tide of pleasure, flowing so easily and swiftly toward oblivion. Yet even while this tempting dream came over him, a frail little bark of hope plunged man- TRINETTE RE-ENTERS 253 fully into the stormy water of the future, while tossing up the spray to cool his heated brow. When sheer fatigue swam over him, he dozed amid the laughter of the revellers, until Madeleine shook him gently. " Come, dear/' said she, " they are putting out the lights." CHAPTER IV MADELEINE LIES GLIBLY AFTER the wretched evening at the Luxembourg, the tide of the Illustrious Theatre's affairs moved on for a time in a more serene course. Monsieur withdrew his royal favour, it is true, yet Tristan de 1'Hermite, taking pity upon his luckless friends, brought them another tragedy, which was so lustily acclaimed that there were daily profits. Pommier's itching palm was outstretched per force; other creditors were constrained to wait. And what of Moliere during these brightening weeks ? At twenty-three a young genius is not long downcast when hope shines in his tempestuous path. Moreover, Madeleine shunned Modene, and Trinette busied her self with the Due de Guise; so his heart wounds were healing. To a matter of fact world, however, the bat tles he waged against a dull Philistine host were but fatuous pranks; his dreams of glory, moods; his love, a perversity. Though he triumphed for a day and took heart, the bourgeois Paris in which he was born turned a cold shoulder when he passed. Poor lad! he did not see that the goat-song of tragedy to which he hearkened was sung by a siren to lure him, while he thought her an inspiring muse. He was helplessly enmeshed in debts, Pommier being not the only usurer to whom he had recourse. Of a fripper dwelling near the Temple, he obtained a few score of livres by pledging two ribands embroidered in 254, MADELEINE LIES GLIBLY 255 silver and gold precious keepsakes from his mother's wardrobe but, when the theatre re-opened after the Easter holidays, Tristan's play had lost the bloom of novelty. There being nought worthy to replace it, the audiences dwindled once more. Pommier began to clamour for an accounting, and he threatened once more to invoke the law. Moreover, Antoine Fausser, a chandler, demanded lustily requital for his dips; Du- bourg, a draper, with equal vehemence, the price of his textiles. So beset was Moliere by those creditors that he had little time to brood over his hatred of Modene, while Trinette became too elated by the triumph of a duke's regard to let a penniless actor disturb the serenity of it, even though his scorn of her rankled. But there was a matter to weigh more heavily upon the young actor's oppressed heart than his debts or his jealousy or the wiles of a jade. Concern for open- handed Chapelle had sent him on many visits to the taverns where he drank; yet the wine-cup had taken too ruthless a hold of him for any friendly offices to loosen it. In spite of Moliere's pleadings and the sleepless nights he spent endeavouring to reclaim him, he became so unruly an inebriate that the authorities clapped him in a correctionary gaol to languish for a year, but not to repent a drunkard he remained to his dying day. On the day of his incarceration, Moliere wept at his prison gate. " Poor Chapelle," sighed he, " if my de votion could have spared you the disgrace, you were a free man." Drying his tears resolutely, he turned his steps sadly toward his theatre, while musing upon the direness of the vice that had brought his friend to such a pass. " It is the generous who fall prey to it," he 256 FAME'S PATHWAY thought ; " the mean are too sordid to buy cheer for a comrade, too sullen to drink aught but their own bile." And what of Bernier, Hesnault, and Le Broussin? he asked himself. They knew as well as any that drink was Chapelle's undoing, and yet they had never once placed a restraining hand upon his sleeve. When he came to a prison gate, they were not there to solace him. " Ah, my dear and generous Claude ! " he cried aloud, " how true are those words you spoke to me in my own hour of misery, ' He who ceases to be a friend has in deed never been one ! ' ' Yet the day was a balmy one, with the sunlight shin ing brightly on the ripples of the Seine. Gay horse men were passing, boatmen singing merrily to the stroke of their bending oars; still he felt himself a pitiful wayfarer, for, on that day in May, Pommier the usurer had threatened to seal the doom of the Illustrious The atre. In Moliere's weary brain, there was not a single fertile thought of succour; yet a way must be found or a prison door would close upon him as well as upon Chapelle. At the Black Cross Tennis-Court, his comrades awaited his coming, their hearts too oppressed to abuse him for his tardiness, since Pommier was there, rubbing his greedy palms. " Well, my young man," said the usurer, " have you brought the money ? " " No," said Moliere sorrowfully. Now Pommier knew that the equity in Marie Herve's house, backed by the precarious bondsmen of the various actors, made his small principal safe enough: not so his large usury; yet, if he prosecuted these wretched players, they would close their theatre an event to be MADELEINE LIES GLIBLY 257 postponed, since another play such as Tristan's might bring a few more daily profits to his till. Moreover, his only hope of a full requital lay in Moliere's pros perous father; for, if the son were gaoled, paternal pride might manifest itself. Turning his blotched face toward the actors, he ad dressed them craftily : " The notes given by you are past due; yet I am willing to postpone the prosecution for shall we say four months? the condition being that a decree of respite be entered at the Palais, your comrade, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, ycleped Moliere, agreeing to assume the payment of the obligations at maturity." Moliere was lawyer enough to perceive the muck worm's project. It meant he would be gaoled in four months if the notes were not paid. Yet the tide of misfortune might turn. Yes; gladly would he sacrifice himself for the sake of those four months. Squaring his shoulders, he faced the usurer bravely. " It is a bargain," said he. " Let the decree be entered." Madeleine protested at the mean spirit her companions were showing in letting Moliere bear the brunt of their troubles; but, with a discernment equal to Pommier's, her brother Joseph saw the role Moliere's father might play. " T-t-time is everything," he stammered. " In four months, m-m-much may happen." " You see," vouchsafed Moliere, with a martyr's equanimity, "we are of one mind." Madeleine said, " Do as you choose ; yet I protest that it is unjust." Thus the matter was settled; yet, when Pommier went shambling off, Beys, putting his wily head close to Pinel's didactic one, declared the moment to decamp 258 FAME'S PATHWAY propitious, since Moliere's immolation had left them with free skins an opinion shared by La Malingre, when the matter was voiced to her. Thus a seditious trio was formed and its courage screwed to the point of an nouncing that three illustrious players meant to depart without so much as a " by your leave, my friends." " Our contract requires a four months' notice of with drawal," protested Moliere, unfolding it to their view. " Our signatures are there," quoth the three, laughing heartily, " and so are they upon Pommier's notes. Do your devilmost, but off we go ! " and, having flouted this defiance, they made off hand in hand. " Let the traitors go ! " cried Moliere, red and furious, " There are loyal hearts enough ! " " S-s-seven are left," said Bej art, " yet how many are 1-1-loyal? " The stutterer's glance at Desfontaines was doubtful, for he had seen the author of the tragedies that had overborne the Illustrious Theatre shifting his feet. In deed, this rogue found the courage to scamper too scurvy rat that he was from a ship he deemed sinking. A good riddance surely, though Moliere cursed him as he went Germain Clerin stood up and vowed allegiance. The words Catherine Bourgeois spoke were encouraging. " I know a young man named Rabel who has long wished to be an actor." " Persuade him to join our ranks," said Moliere. " An easy task," smiled the girl. " And what of the young advocate of Lyons who brought us a tragedy the other day ? " asked Germain Clerin. " He had a bright face, though I recall not his name." MADELEINE LIES GLIBLY 259 " Jean Magnon," answered Moliere eagerly. " His play is called ' Artaxerxes.' A worthy subject; I shall read it forthwith." Whereupon he rummaged until he found the manuscript. While he was placing it in his doublet, Madeleine drew an arm about his waist. " Think, dear," she said, " how the burghers of Poissy laughed at the learned doctor of your farce; think how well you played Do- rante, the liar ! " Even his heart began to falter ; but when she spoke of Dorante, a sallow face grew vivid in his overwrought mind the face of Corneille. With this vision of the master came the echo of his voice saying to him, the lowly disciple, " If my words have inspired you they have not been in vain." While he struggled with himself against himself Madeleine kept to her purpose. " Listen, dear. This morning I met an old comrade, by name Charles Dufresne. He is forming a troupe to take service with the Due d'fipernon. He invited me to join him and bring with me the best comedian among my comrades." " Nay, Madeleine," he said, his eyes pleading with her ; " not yet will I be the turkey of farce." He turned away, and she, taking pity, let him go. While his step echoed through the still tennis-court, she sought in vain an outcome to their plight; for, even if Pommier held aloof, she knew that other creditors would press their claims. Disaster, alas, must surely over whelm them, and when it came, Moliere must bear the shock of it. Yet, seeing clearly the result of his obstinate self-sacrifice, she loved him only the more for it, so courageous did it seem, and yet so futile. She 260 FAME'S PATHWAY was miserable; and while she pondered in vain, her comrades left her one by one all except Catherine Bourgeois, who came to her to press her hand fondly. Madeleine drew the girl's head to her shoulder, and there they sat trying to soothe each other, trying to de vise some means to end their troubles, until they were startled by the tramp of strange feet. Looking up, they saw Antoine Fausser, the chandler, and with him Du- bourg, the draper. Madeleine eyed them vaguely, being just then unable to realise the purport of their visit. Extreme fatigue had overcome her, so she nodded and yawned while ask ing them what they sought. " Moliere," said Fausser gruffly. " Yes, Moliere," echoed his companion, " since his name is pledged to debts that are not paid." She was awake now and fully conscious of the dan ger; for, in the shadow beyond these men, she saw the low-bowed face of a bailiff. " Moliere is goire," she said hurriedly, fighting for time. " None of that, my girl," shouted the draper, breath ing deep through his nose. " It will do you no good to lie." She was all dismay, yet she spoke without a tremor. " You have come to arrest him ? " The chandler's blear eyes twitched angrily. " It is the way to make him pay honest debts." A weaker woman would have implored with tears, she but sharpened her wits. Thieves ! a pair of thieves ! thought she; and for ends which seemed good to her, she resolved to lie glibly. " Arrest him ! " she scoffed, "when a great noble's protection has just been ex tended to him ! A fool's policy indeed ! " MADELEINE LIES GLIBLY 261 " A likely tale," grunted Fausser. " And who, pray, is this great noble ? " " The Due de Guise," said Madeleine boldly, his name being first on her lip; yet while she said this, she was praying how best she might make the lie plausible. The Due de Guise indeed! . . . And why not? The thought had a bite in it since, to win his favour, she must humble herself to his henchman. And still why not? The proud horse she rode had thrown her. She was in the dust before two rogues who stood ready to throttle her joy. In such a predicament she would humble herself to the devil, if, indeed, Modene were not the devil. As for qualms, she had none. She only longed to save her lover; so, when the chandler blinked doubtfully, and the draper called her a prevaricating hussy, she faced them boldly and lied with a very high head, considering the tottering stool on which she stood. " Yes, the Due de Guise, for he has taken us under his protection." The chandler raised his voice. " I believe not a word of it " Madeleine, sweetly smiling, checked him. " Excite not yourself, my friend. To-morrow the half of your claim will be paid, and that of Dubourg as well." " The half ! " snarled the draper ; " and what of the whole ? " " The half to-morrow ; the whole in good time. It is better than nothing, sir draper." So thought the rogue, and Fausser as well; therefore, they withdrew, vowing that if the jade played them false, they would gaol her too. Catherine Bourgeois sat gravely wondering where the ransom was to come from. To her questioning look, FAME'S PATHWAY Madeleine said, " Come, I have need of you ;" for she had firmly resolved that one price she would not pay. She would plead, yes, and humble herself, but never should Modene tread upon her soul again. Let the girl witness her sincerity. She did not go forth with lowered head, but carried it upright as if her business were honourable. Through the winding ways of Paris she went, Catherine Bour geois content to follow, so implicit was her faith. At Modene's lodging, his valet vowed he knew not his master's whereabouts ; but he had a liking for Madeleine, and when she gave him the lie direct, he whispered, " Renard's Garden ! " A league away lay this gay retreat, yet Madeleine did not falter. With her fine head erect, she sped along the river bank her faithful, silent friend beside her past the barges and the water coaches, the open-air shops, the jousts of bargees and river men. At the porte de la Conference, they turned aside, with panting breath, toward Renard's bower. Gilded coaches rumbled by them, bearing proud ladies, coifed and powdered, from the Cours-la-Reine. Gentlemen of quality bowed low to these, but none noticed the shabby, footsore actresses save pygmy Voiture, riding beside Madame de Rambouillet's coach. Madeleine did not see the little poet turn his eyes away lest her acquaint ance shame him, for her heart was oppressed, her spirit almost gone. What more could she suffer? One thing only, the loss of Moliere's love. If she adored him amiss, and humbled her pride to save him, it was be cause she adored him too well. Her heart was oppressed, her spirit almost gone CHAPTER V REWARD'S GARDEN IN Renard's cool groves, the gay world gathered after its daily promenade in the Cours-la-Reine. There trysts were made in a garden of delights untold, because the telling would be indiscreet; there Renard would rob you as dexterously as he had robbed his noble master when he was a valet, yet, so craftily tied was his tongue that the frailest of his fair patrons knew that the secret of her amours was safe in his keeping. A fox by nature, a fox by name, was this complaisant rogue. All hail to him, wily harbinger of Mascarille and Scapin! Upon Madeleine he frowned because her gown was faded; yet, knowing every one in Paris who was any one, he knew her too; so he listened when she told him that her friend and she were supping with the Due de Guise and the Baron de Modene. Knowing these rakes awaited two ladies, he believed her; for he did not know that his serving-man had guided the expected guests to their table. Thus Master Renard was tricked by Madeleine's tale, a clever woman being a match for even so crafty a fox as he. Nevertheless, he approached with caution the bosquet Guise had engaged. Hearing feminine laughter rippling through the leaves, he mo tioned Madeleine to wait. Now the ladies within the bower were Trinette Desurlis and Marie Courtin de la Dehors their hair as black as their souls, their lips as scarlet as their char acters and when the crafty landlord peered through the 263 2641 FAME'S PATHWAY rustling leaves, he saw them entwined in rapturous arms. He coughed, but they paid no heed, so entranced were they with a project Guise was voicing. To the war in Flanders they must go such was his plan. " Monsieur is in command/' said this pleasure-loving seigneur, "and he will lead us no such strenuous chase as would Enghien or Turenne. Indeed, if I mistake not, he proposes to set us down before Mardyck and pass the summer in a siege. Two ladies fair as you would make the trenches a paradise for my dear friend Modene and ardent me. What say you to the plan, Trinette ? " he whispered, kissing the girl upon his knee. " The journey is arduous, your grace," said she, fear ing to show too great a willingness. Guise laughed uproariously. " If a hundred horses, a dozen wains, a pack of sumpter mules, and two coaches and six make a journey arduous, then will it be arduous to travel in my suite." Trinette's dark eyes sparkled, but she curbed her joy. " Mardyck is far from Paris," she pouted. " You silly girl ! " broke in Marie Courtin ; and afraid that Trinette's hesitancy would upset the project, she left Modene's side to expostulate. He, with a sigh of relief, rose to stroll through the grove and ponder a way to be rid of her. Now Renard, wise rogue, made sure that Madeleine played no part in Guise's plan; so he took a backward step. Modene, hearing the leaves tremble, grabbed his collar. " What mean you by spying on us, you rascal ? " he cried, dragging the fellow toward the table about which his companions sat. " Trounce him well ! " laughed Guise ; " trounce him till he disgorges the pistoles he has robbed us of ! " RENARD'S GARDEN 265 " Pecaire, I will ! " replied Modene, raising his cane. The rogue fell on his knees. " Listen, Monsieur le Baron, listen ! I came at the intercession of a lady who said you had invited her." Modene shook him lustily. " I have invited no lady, you scoundrel ! " But Marie Courtin's jealous ears were pricked. " And who is this lady, pray ? " she asked. " Mademoiselle Be j art," whimpered Renard, his trem bling eyes still fixed upon the terrifying cane. " Oho ! " said Trinette softly. Marie Courtin's vengeful tongue snapped her rage at Madeleine's impertinence, then stormed at Modene for his perfidy, she holding no minx so brazen as to follow him unbidden. He, meeting each blast with a shrug, began to take another course. " Sang dious, if a dozen ladies follow me, 't is my affair ! " And turning on his heel, he pulled Renard after him. " Where is Mademoiselle Bej art ? " he demanded. Marie Courtin turned faint and had to be fanned by Guise. Trinette shook her and called her a whimper ing fool. " Come with me," said she, " and listen to the ardour of this lovers' tryst." " No man shall betray me ! " moaned Marie Courtin. " If you speak again, I '11 strangle you ! " whispered Trinette, leading her into the thicket where Modene had disappeared. Guise followed too, a smile on his lickerish face; yet the three were not seen by Madeleine, wondering and trembling in the fading light, nor by Modene, taking his forward steps. Pointing to Madeleine, Renard scampered away. To her Modene bowed suavely; to Catherine Bourgeois he 266 FAME'S PATHWAY bowed still lower, her face looking winsome in the sun's last rays. " To what am I indebted for the honour of this dual visit ? " he asked, a sarcastic smile on his droop ing lip Madeleine paled, but her eyes never left his face. " I have come because I need your help." The nobleman stroked the beard on his chin. " So pride has thrown you at last ? " " It has, Remond. Does it please you to see me in the dust? " My lord of Modene saw a woman he had loved in his tempestuous way make a pleading gesture saw the soft gleam of her in the dying day. She sought, in his opin ion, what all young women seek, a lover fond as, he flat tered himself, he once had been to her. Marie Courtin's tongue had scathed away all liking: Madeleine's worth he remembered, while noting how fair she was, and how slender save for a fine bosom. Because of that pliant form of hers, base love coursed through him, and because of the past, he knew her not to be of spotless snow, though his passion was somewhat daunted by the look her brave face gave him. " So you are mine! " he cried; " mine once more ! " He tried to draw her to him and hold her face to his lips; but she, straining away from him, fought his caresses until she had freed herself. " I cannot, Remond ; by my soul, I cannot. Ah, won't you listen ? I do so need your help ! " " Pardi, I am no almoner," he laughed. "I asked for the chance to live my own life. You left me no other choice," she said, while he flecked the grass with his cane. His words betrayed his wounded self-esteem. " A scatter-brained actor ! A sagacious choice, indeed." RENARD'S GARDEN 267 She bowed her head, but went on. " I love him ; and because a debtor's gaol will imprison him, I come to you unknown to him, I swear it. You serve a grand seigneur. ... A few livres two hundred at the most will stay the tide of our misfortunes. Ah, be generous, Remond, be generous ! " She pleaded, her hands outstretched; but Modne was ruthless. " You made your own bed. If it be a pallet, lie in it. I but quote your words." She had been this man's creature, but later, love had filled her soul with light had chastened her. She had the courage to deal squarely with herself for love had taught her what love might be. " He is so young, so inexperienced," she said, " yet he has fought for the ideals be believes are true fought until his last denier is gone. Rather than humble his pride, as I have hum bled mine, he will let the doors of a prison close on him." "Ma foi!" laughed Modene, " 't is the place for a hot head to cool." Out of the depths of her heart she poured forth her passion. " He is wilful, Remond, headstrong, if you like, and he has made me suffer bitterly; yet I love him because he is so earnest, so sensitive. I have seen divine fire in his splendid eyes. Some day I shall be proud of him, even though my heart be broken by the very faults I love." " Was ever man forced to listen to a harangue on a rival's qualitie^i ? " Modene asked himself. " It but makes me ridiculous, morbleu ridiculous in the eyes of yonder girl ! " he thought, his glance resting on Catherine Bour geois. " Hey, my pretty one ! " he exclaimed, taking a step toward her and pinching her cheek while he looked 268 FAME'S PATHWAY gayly at her, "what say you? Is she a simpleton who knows no better than to prate of her lover, or a baggage who seeks to whet my j ealousy ? " " My lord, she is the truest and most loyal girl in France," said Catherine Bourgeois, her eyes kindling with admiration. He saw the fair curve of Madeleine's cheek the ruddy hair that seemed to burn it. " A pretty golden thrush," he sneered, " should not mate with a crow." " A better choice than a buzzard," said the girl, but Madeleine hushed her and went to Modene. She was gentle in her reasoning, knowing him to be most dogged when his pride was awake. " A few livres, Remond; then you will be rid of me." " To keep a rogue out of gaol who should have been there long ago! I have better use for my livres." Modene's head was high; yet he would have heeded her entreaty save for the wound to his pride, for he adored her in his brutal way, and there were ties he could not sever. Tears stood in Madeleine's eyes, but she had the hardihood to dry them. She sought to woo this man's compassion with entreaty. Her voice sounded worn. " A woman can give no more than I gave. Ah, please listen for the sake of the past, for the sake of a tiny grave ! " She looked sadly down at the grass, where night was darkening the green; and he, not wholly without pity, now, took her hand, for her words had touched him poignantly. " Madeleine," said he, " something is due you, I confess." Seeing the pair hand in hand, Marie Courtin, listen ing in the shadow, could be restricted no longer. " A pretty business ! " she said, breaking from Trinette's RENARD'S GARDEN 269 grasp; "a pretty business indeed! this demonstration beneath my very nose." " Go to the devil ! " said Modene. His cane flickered in the air and he would have struck her, but for Tri- nette's mocking laughter as she stepped through the trees. Guise came laughing too, and their mirth made Modene dumb with rage, for he saw he had been made to play the fool. Madeleine, only half understanding, looked af- frightedly about her. Marie Courtin broke forth afresh. " You shameless hussy ! " she screeched at the girl she hated. "Don't be a witling," whispered Trinette in her ear; and while she silenced her, Guise let off a quip or two, guffawing at his own wit, for he had chaffed his gentle- man-in-waiting as a luckless squire of dames. Finding himself a target for his lord's laughter, Mo dene waved off the attack with an appeal that recovered both his dignity and Madeleine's hopes, for he saw that by helping her he might help himself. " You may laugh, your grace, yet this fair lady is a most worthy peti tioner," said he, indicating Madeleine with a gesture. " She asks that you accord your protection to her troupe of players. If my intercession in behalf of one so de serving as I know her to be, is a just cause for mirth, then laugh to your heart's content; for I vow to serve you loyally evibn as a mark for merriment. You must acknowledge, however, that when I left His Highness of Orleans to follow your grace, I took not service as a jester." With his hat against his heart, Modene bowed low. Guise, feeling himself snubbed, knew he merited it, yet was galled none the less. Still, the more he ruminated, 270 FAME'S PATHWAY the more simple a bounty to Madeleine seemed as a way of riddance. " My dear/' said he, " I am leaving for the wars. A share in my wardrobe, which I shall dis tribute among the actors of Paris, is all I can promise; yet it will be a goodly share." His look said, " It is done; now leave me in peace." Knowing the ways of grand seigneurs, Madeleine ac cepted the boon humbly, though her heart beat a wild tattoo of joy. A share in the wardrobe of a duke! Enough to satisfy Dubourg and Fausser, since even the meanest fripper would loosen his purse-strings for booty so rich. When she and Catherine Bourgeois departed, it was to bear the glad tidings to their comrades. As they walked away, erect and rapidly, Guise opined that he was hungry. Modene followed him toward the bower, his eyes fixed in vacancy; for, as much as he could love woman born, he loved Madeleine loved her for her beauty, her sweetness, and proud spirit, and knowing she was lost to him, he longed to seize her once more for himself. While he mused and Marie Courtin followed petu lantly his steps, Trinette thought of some things she had heard. " And the tiny grave? " she whispered, gripping her companion's arm. " The parish register of St. Eustache will tell you," said Marie Courtin. As she pondered these words, Trinette raised her eye brows, but not her eyes, then smiled to herself. Soon she was too deep in cajolery to remember a longing that had rent her for, when Guise embraced and kissed her, she kissed him back with thoughts of a coach and six. It is to be noted that her promise to go to the wars was given reluctantly. CHAPTER VI THE SACRISTY OF ST. EUSTACHE KNOWING Moliere's jealous nature, Madeleine said not a word regarding the means she had employed in ob taining Monsieur de Guise's favour. When his cast-off garments were distributed, as happened on the morrow, the actors of the royal troupe had goodly coats to wear. To the frippers of the rue de la Tonnellerie went the Illustrious Theatre's share a windfall to defer its doom. A matter of envy, too; there being a jealous fellow with a knack for rhyming who penned these lines to His Grace, though he had not the courage to sign them: "Already, in the royal troupe, Sir Beauchateau, that popinjay, Lets his impatient spirit droop, Whene'er thy gift he can't display; La B6jart, Beys, and Moliere, Three stars of brilliance quite as rare, Through glory thine, have grown so vain That envy makes me loudly swear I'll none of them, shouldst thou not deign To grant me clothes as fine to wear." Was the lampooner Tristan? More likely it was Beys, the renegade, wishing the world to think him still effulgent; yet his identity was a trifling matter beside the troubles that beset these players when the proceeds of their good fortune were dissipated. Though the chestnuts bloomed in the Cours-la-Reine, May went out in gloom, even " Artaxerxes " failing to 271 FAME'S PATHWAY give it light; then June came in to the clamours of im portunate creditors. A depleted troupe, an empty treas ury, and the theatrical season waning! These actors found themselves bitten by the very badgers they had hoped to draw with Guise's gift. The woman to whom Moliere had pawned his keepsakes, secured a judgment for the interest due her. Fausser the chandler obtained another from the juges-consuls. Secure in his decree of respite, Pommier held aloof; but to what profit, seeing that fellow-leeches could not be shaken off? Torrid July passed; then Moliere was again pursued by the hounds of the law. To devise a plan of escape for him, his comrades gathered in the Black Cross Ten nis-Court. There they held a futile debate, all talking except the one they sought to save. He, deadly pale, could listen only for the dreaded step of his pursuers. With Guise and Modene at the wars, Madeleine knew that no more crumbs could fall from their table. Her pride seemed to have been vainly sacrificed, yet she strove to cheer her lover and shame her comrades. " If Mo liere is to flee," said she, " let us flee with him; if he is to be gaoled, let us share his punishment." At this there was a murmur that grew in volume until Joseph Bejart stammered out; " Even if all the s-s-sheep are counted, the w-w-wolf will still eat them." When the stutterer had done, Moliere answered him, " I shall take my punishment. None need share it." Madeleine touched his arm. " Your father ? " she said. A tigerish desire to fly at her arose within him, but her unselfish glance shamed him. " Acknowledge myself beaten ? I cannot ! I cannot ! " " Dear," she said, pitying his tempestuous heart, " it is the only way." THE SACRISTY OF ST. EUSTACHE 273 Her words were tainted with disgrace, he thought; and when her hand touched his, he brushed it away; for he was faint with worry and without a heart for affec tion. Turning away petulantly, he strode out of the room, his heart overcome with a desire to escape from the rasping voices of his comrades from Madeleine's compassion. He longed to commune with himself, to be alone, to know no one, to see no one, to pay alone the price of his folly, for the fruitless struggle of two years was overwhelming him. He looked at the blue sky and the grey house walls. Both seemed so black that he shut his eyes and let the sun play upon his burning face. Like the cries of har pies in pursuit, he heard the hisses and groans of the pit, the taunts of his unfeeling friends; then uncon sciously he turned his steps toward his father's house, craving a crust like a hungry dog ashamed to whine for it. A fit of uncontrollable weeping seized him, and he ran lest the wayfarers see his face blurred with tears he could not arrest; and while he ran he pitied himself and hated himself and grew frightened to think how solitary he was, for his nerves were vibrant with dis tress the distress of failure. The undue sensibility that makes the artist's clay unlike the common man's oppressed him not fear for when the law's hand touched his shoulder he would go bravely enough, he knew; yet alone in the streets of Paris, he shed unreas oning tears, and his misery, thus baptised, became a bitter presage. Not knowing whither he went, he reached the market place. Gladdened by the familiar click of the pewterer's hammer, the shrill cries of the market women, he has- FAME'S PATHWAY tened on. Brought almost to his father's door by his unstrung nerves, pride stayed his steps ; for when he saw a hateful shop, he felt that he would rather be branded at the pillory before it than play the repentant prodigal. Seized with a sudden yearning, he turned toward the Church of St. Eustache, towering peacefully above the market's din. There his mother had prayed, and he longed to open Heaven. If hemlock had been placed by the Fates at his door, God should see him drink it. But the Fates had brought a more enticing cup though none the less poisonous; for, while he pined so incoherently, a coach with ducal arms upon its panels rumbled leisurely through the traffic of the square. Upon its high-swung seat sat Trinette Desurlis, shipped back to Paris in this grand style by a fickle peer. Having been cavalierly treated, she was in a mood for adventure, and seeing a sombre lad with a hunted look in his eyes, she called to the coachman to stop. Leaping past the flunkey who opened the door, she ran nimbly through the crowd, crying, " Moliere ! Moliere ! " Hearing his name, he turned with a start, but instead of the archer of police his fears had created, a pretty girl was speeding towards him. Hers was a fierce beauty, vividly coloured; seeing her flashing eyes, he trembled, for he had not the courage to meet her taunts. But she, taught cunning by experience, pursued a more subtle course. She was forlorn, she told him, and longed for his sympathy. He raised her hand to his lips. His wounded self-esteem, seeking a balm, found it in her pleading glance. She told him of Guise's baseness. Soon he was engaged in her misery and sure that it must be very like his own. Deftly she led him past the beggars at the church THE SACRISTY OF ST. EUSTACHE 275 door to the cool sanctuary within. The sign of the cross she made, then a sign to him; for the church was St. Eustache. To the sacristy she motioned him. At the far end of the nave in which they stood, can dles flared about a bier; before the black-draped altar, a priest was intoning a requiem. Choristers were chant ing the Office of the Dead; sombrely gowned women knelt weeping. Shuddering as his steps resounded through the shad owy vastness of the church, Moliere turned to follow this girl, in whose eyes devilry burned, behind whose rouged lips was a wicked acquaintance with life. The incense, the dimly burning candles, the quavering voices of the singers, filled his impressionable heart with awe. His soul became burdened with a sense of the unreality of life of its unavailing bitterness, and he was drawn into a mysterious sympathy with death. To lie in peace be fore a lighted altar, while the choir in its stalls sang and a priest intoned, seemed far better than to live harassed and wretched as he had lived. " Ah, the empti ness of life ! " he sighed, with the pessimism of failure, for he had yet to attain the fortitude of after years. "Ah, the joy of triumph!" thought the girl who tripped before him, in contour barely more than a child, so slenderly made and lithe was she. At the door of the sacristy she turned. " I hate dead people," she whis pered. " See, the sun is shining here to make us long to live." The sunlight, streaming through the window to which she had pointed, enhanced her beauty. A shambling sacristan swung the door open wide; there was an invi tation in her glance a look that said, " Let us live for the joy of living! " 276 FAME'S PATHWAY In the cool, still sacristy was a fragrance of orris root and lavender. Vestments of red and green brocade were laid upon the shelves copes of gold and white with embroidered hoods and orphreys. The sacristan wished to show their splendour, but Trinette shook her little head peremptorily, assuaging his wounded pride by crossing his withered palm. In response to a whispered word, he brought the parish register, laid it before her, dusted it with the sleeve of his cassock, opened it rev erently, then bowed himself off with his rattling keys to stand guard. The piece she had given him was of shimmering gold. For it, he would hold the door against a bishop. Moliere was standing beside the girl, very silent. He saw her turn the pages quickly backward through the years, saw her scan them eagerly, then read a certain entry with great care. What mystery lay behind her con tented smile, he wondered ; but she did not enlighten him. Exquisite little courtesan, with her shining hair and olive skin, she was more than a match for him; and knowing the egotism of his sex, she led him away from the mystery that had vexed him to the telling of his troubles. The actors in his drama loomed large in his mind his fears wore buskins to enhance their height; and when he told her that archers might drag him to a loathsome gaol, his voice had the shock, his face the mask of tragedy, he had failed so often in feigning. " Poor Moliere ! " sighed the girl, as she glanced sym pathetically into his eyes. "If Madeleine had known the wealth of talent you possess the indomitable cour age she would not have played you false." " Played me false ! " he exclaimed, her words touch ing a new chord of misery. THE SACRISTY OF ST. EUSTACHE 277 " Ah, my dear friend," she answered, " better that I should give you pain than that you should continue this blind faith in one who has been as false to you as Mon sieur de Guise has been to me." "Another of your base lies, Trinette," he protested, now angry and flushed, " the lies with which you have ever sought to poison my heart." Her hand touched his shoulder. " You are unkind, Moliere, brutally unkind. Once you drove me from your theatre; now you accuse me without a hearing. A lie, you say ? As God is my witness, I speak the truth ! " " Perjure not yourself, Trinette," he said, shifting away from her, " for this is God's house." She tortured the faith she meant to kill. " She loved you, I verily believe loved you while he was away but when he returned and implored her, she listened. Ah, what a depth of love a woman has for her betrayer ! " She paused as she had paused that day in the road near St. Germain to watch the flight of this self-same shaft. Again she saw him wince in silent pain. " I was there, Moliere," she went on, furtively watch ing the effect of her words, " there at Renard's Garden when they met. Yes, I played the eavesdropper, I con fess, because ah, because of my interest in you. She came to plead for help. He had quarrelled with Marie Courtin, so he listened; and while he listened, his old love flamed anew. It was he who obtained Monsieur de Guise's gift. Men such as he do not help a woman, unless ah, my poor friend, do not blame her too harshly. There were ties she could not sever." His dismayed heart could only murmur, " Ties ! irhat ties?" " These ! " she exclaimed, pointing to the open parish 278 FAME'S PATHWAY book. Breathlessly she watched the poison enter his soul watched his face quiver in a look of agony, as he read these words: "On Sunday, the eleventh of July, 1636, was baptised Francoise born Saturday, the third of the present month daughter of Messire Esprit de Re"mond, lord of Modene and other places, chamberlain of Monseigneur, the king's only brother, and of Mademoiselle Madeleine Be" j art." His eyes faltered. He could read no more. On that magic isle, when Madeleine had told him of the past, never a word of this had she breathed, yet here was her shame publicly blazoned with its scandalous details. Gathering courage, he read the infamous entry to the end. Modene's legitimate son and heir, the godfather! His sponsor, Jean-Baptiste de 1'Hermite, the henchman ! Marie Herve, the godmother ! Before this evidence, so galling to him, so damning to Madeleine, his heart sank until it left a void in his breast. Where love had been, entered mortification and rage. The page before him grew black from wounded pride his eyes refused their office. Shaken to pieces by the odious words, he flung himself forward on the open book. Trinette gripped his arm to steady him. " Of all the cruelty in the world, love is the most cruel," she said. He raised a dry, tearless face. " Why did you show me this ? " he asked. " What have you gained by it ? " " I have gained your confidence. No longer will you doubt me." Her glance was imploring then, her head near his shoulder. " Monsieur de Guise was generous to me," she continued; "ah, let me pay those harassing debts! His eyes refused their office THE SACRISTY OF ST. EUSTACHE At the theatre du Marais I have influence. A place in its ranks is not unworthy of your splendid talent." It was an enticing moment in which the vexing past seemed to fade before a vision of an easy future with this tawny girl to brighten it. Madeleine's love was a delusion; her kisses a mockery! Yes, there was the testimony written in a fine, monkish hand; and as he dwelt upon her seeming perfidy, rage and jealousy surged in his mortified heart. His soul, stripped of its happiness, stood naked on a brink. A swift and reck less tide flowed temptingly below. To shatter it, be fore he took the headlong plunge, he trampled on the image of his love. "Ah, don't be a dupe!" cried Trinette, her glance burning through him. Closing his eyes in a vain effort to beat back his wild thoughts, resistance seemed dead; for she threw her arms about him suddenly and pressed her warm lips to his. And so he was borne down by the furious eddies. " Moliere, my Moliere," she sighed, settling con-f tentedly into his arms, " I have waited long for this moment, waited ever since that day in Madeleine's gar den." He hated her for the triumph she had won over him, and tried to breast the waves of his despair; but he had not the strength to beat them back, and together they were borne deeper and deeper. The kiss he gave her then was the fervent kiss she craved. " I knew you would be mine," she murmured, " for I am not a woman to be withstood." The selfishness with which her love was given startled him, and even with temptation tingling in his flesh, he was taken in a sudden terror of her. His reason seemed 280 FAME'S PATHWAY adrift, his will stolen from him, yet his agony was un- allayed. Within him was a feverish longing to escape from this temptress and flee afar to some haven where his heart might rest. Even when his fears were con sumed in her caresses, he could not feel that he was wholly hers; for he had abandoned only the miserable scrap that remained after a torturing jealousy had de voured him after his faith had been racked by a knowl edge of that shame of long ago. When at last he stood at the church door with the sunlight dispelling the joy of a passion's sudden awaken ing, temptation was still alive in his breast, but with it, a vivid sense of perfidy. Trinette pointed to Guise's coach. "Love's chariot awaits," said she. He paled, but stretched out a refusing hand. " I can not go with my comrades firm in their belief in me," he said. " I mean to tell them I have forsworn the cause I have held so dear." Her eyes grew fierce with rage. She bared her teeth beneath her rouged lip and snarled, " And what of your canting Madeleine? Do you mean to snivel to her as well?" " She has deceived me," he said. " I owe her noth- ing!" Trinette watched the tortured play of his features. Her stealth was that of a cat, but her claws were not for him. " If you return to her, I shall kill her ! " Her voice had a cry of hate in it to cut the very soul of him, but, though she clung to him closer and closer, imploring him not to forsake her in that moment of joy, he would not listen. Finding him immovable to caresses, she pleaded in the Gallic way, speaking with her hands, THE SACRISTY OF ST. EUSTACHE 281 her shoulders, head, and stamping foot; but in vain. Though she turned from hate of Madeleine to scorn of him, he never faltered in that one purpose to tell his comrades of his defection. She appealed in turn to his pity and his passion, appealed shamelessly before a crowd of laughing idlers ; yet he stood firm, for, though she lavished fond words, he would not play what seemed to him a coward's part. In the end, she broke an im ploring speech in the middle, pushed him aside, gave a cry of anger, and ran to Guise's coach. With distrust in his heart, he watched her mount to the high seat; yet the anguish of the struggle had left him too weary to consider the issue of this day. When she drove past him, the sight of her beauty made his blood flow again in burning pulsations. " An hour," he cried, running to the coach door and seizing her little hand to kiss, " an hour, Trinette, is all I ask ; then I will come to you for ever ! " The sunlight hardened the girl's face, but he saw only her glancing eyes of invitation. CHAPTER VII CATHERINE BOURGEOIS SPEAKS HER MIND MOLIERE trudged the filthy streets of the Marais quar ter, a band of iron seeming to encase his throbbing head a ruthless band drawn tighter by each step. His mus cles ached, his nerves twitched painfully. If his tears would only flow again, he thought, they might lessen his suffering, for he was adrift upon a sparless wreck a parched, demented mariner tossed hither and thither by the waves of fate. Through the blinding mist of his misery still echoed a song to lure him. Its promise was a life free from failure a life untortured by a faithless love. When he reached the rue des Jardins, the street of his wretched lodging, he entered a court-yard where the walls were moss-grown and the cobbles slimy. Pale children were playing with the chain and bucket of a well, their careworn mothers shrilling gossip as they toiled. The foulness of the place, its desolation, made him shudder, and as he groped his way up the ladder- like stairs, he felt that he could endure no longer the straitened life poverty had forced upon him; for, in that wretched phalanstery where he and his comrades had their common lot, was nought but squalor and misery. When at last he stood panting before the battered door he sought, his longing to be unharassed by want and debt to bask in the sunshine of eyes as alluring as Trinette's had seemed that day had become an obses- CATHERINE BOURGEOIS SPEAKS 283 sion, for the empery of himself had been wrested from him. "God help me! God judge me!" he moaned, dreary and undone. Rabelais had died in that street; death, too, was in Moliere's thought. Madeleine, helped by Catherine Bourgeois, was cook ing the noon-day meal. On hearing his step upon the threshold, she went straightway to the door. Seeing his worn look, to gain a moment's time, she motioned him to the adjoining room, fearing to tell him a piece of dire news. Seeming not to see her, he sank into a chair, his hands falling limp beside him. Quickly she poured a beaker of cheap wine. " Drink this, dear," she said ; " for, though it is bad, it is the best we have." He took the proffered cup and drained it. Her con cern vexed him, the tender glance of eyes he felt were false, making him long to be done with the purpose of his coming. " Where is Joseph ? " he asked. " Where are Clerin and Rabel ? " " They have gone," she replied, " gone to warn you, for the officers of the law have been searching here for you." Lashed by the misery of being near her, he thought not of the danger, but of her shame, her treachery. " They may take me where they will," he sighed. She saw that thoughts he kept from her were torment ing him. " What ails you, dear ? " she asked. " Tell me of your grief, and upon my life, I will rectify it if I can." Her words seemed laden with deception. " Rectify it? Nothing can rectify it!" he said, turning her a pair of eyes that were all black. " Would that I had never seen your treacherous face ! " 2841 FAME'S PATHWAY His words struck a terror to her heart; they were so brutal, so unmerited. " Moliere ! Moliere ! " she cried. " Are you bereft of reason ? Are you mad ? " " No, I am not mad," he answered, rising from the chair in which he sat, " I have merely ceased to be a dupe ! " He looked at her scornfully, noting how she took it, for his pity had been deadened. She bore it courageously, though her heart was robbed of its joy. " You have ceased to be worthy of my love; so much is clear," she said quite calmly. He had not meant to vent his rage, for he had come to tell his comrades that he should no longer serve them come to do it openly, and to withstand their curses. For the disgrace Madeleine had withheld from him, for her infidelity, silence alone should be the punishment ; but finding her blandly tender and solicitous, he loathed her for the hypocrite she seemed to him; yet even in that wild moment, he had felt the twinge of shame. " Worthy your love ! " he sneered ; " you, whose fault is publicly recorded ! " She winced as if struck in the face. " If I had ever deceived you, Moliere," she said, her hand upon her bosom to quell the pain in it, " I might pardon those un just words; but when you implored my love, I told you I was like other women of my calling, told you quite frankly. Now you upbraid me for this fault of long ago, upbraid me after years of fidelity. It is cruel, it is ungenerous. I have done nought to merit it." Here her courage seemed to leave her, for she began to strug gle in vain with her tears. " The past I might forgive, but not the means you employed in obtaining Monsieur de Guise's gift," he moaned, with the gesture of a drowning man. " Made- CATHERINE BOURGEOIS SPEAKS 285 leine! Madeleine! how could you make a traffic of your love ? " He found himself weary, even of reviling. Reaching for a chair, he sank into it, a hand upon his aching head. His cruel words rang in her ears like a cry to arms. Pride, unjustly injured, was stirring in her, and though she held out a pleading hand, it was quickly withdrawn. To defend herself from this base charge, when he, not she, was false to their love, was a cowardly act to which she could not bend herself. She knew well the name of her accuser, yet wished to learn it from his lips wished him to bear witness to his own treachery. " Trinette has returned ! " she said at last. " You have seen her ! " He did not affect to deny it, for he sat limp and silent. Pride tempered her agony, and she dried her tears. " Long ago I paid the penalty of a girl's implicit love as a grave bears witness. Long ago I learned to bear the pain of it. I am a woman now, and I shall not weep for a love contemptible as yours. Do you remember a prophecy I made when you were a lover kneeling at my feet? ' If I listen,' I said, 'the day must come when you will long to wipe out the step I let you take.' Ah, Moliere, the day I prophesied has come. I am the suf ferer, not you; yet I had the good sense to foresee that you would prove unworthy. And so you have proved, my friend, utterly unworthy. . . . Nay, do not protest, for in your heart you know that it is true." Drawing herself to her full height, she stood gazing down at him huddled there in a crisis of pain and misery. A tide of pity swept over him, and for a moment she yearned to kiss and mother him as if he were a child; 286 FAME'S PATHWAY but she could not forget that he had had the meanness to believe the vile charge of a woman such as Trinette to believe it after she, the patient helpmate, had borne with him throughout two trying years. She pitied him for failing utterly; yet she could not forgive his failure to trust in her. With a look of fortitude in her proud face, she walked directly to the door and closed it after her; the manner of her going saying more clearly than any words she might have spoken : " You are free. Go to the wanton whose poison has killed your faith, and do not return, for I have done with you." When she was gone, he sat clutching at the edge of his chair, his face turned toward the door. His lips quivered, but the tears he longed for could not flow. Vaguely he pondered her words, struggling with the injury, the truth of them. That she had wronged him, and now herself was wronged, was his conclusion; and though there was food for grim humour in the thought, there was none for him, he being utterly miserable, and in his heart, ashamed. Still, among the wretched feelings he had, resentment prevailed; for he had done nought but defend his manhood, and she, canting girl, had bar tered herself: so his man's egotism sought to extenuate his meanness. In her perilous position, Madeleine had acted wisely. Reproaches he could have met with recriminations, but the fine way in which she had received his ungenerous onslaught, her manner of merging her pain in a spirit of loftiness yes, even of sympathy had made him feel despicable. Never had she appeared so transcendent; now she had gone, his manliness tried hard to cry out that he had been a coward. In his overwrought brain, ;woe and fear were in a tumult with pride fiends of the CATHERINE BOURGEOIS SPEAKS 287 hell his soul had become; for, in the shattered state to which anxiety and unrewarded endeavour had brought him, there was no clearness of vision no sane reasoning nor hardihood of well-being. He was sick unto despair, and the world a black cavern with rotting walls that soon must fall and crush him. For a long time he sat there without the courage to rise and go forth. The one thought that became dom inant was his promise to Trinette; yet he had no desire to keep it, for he was afraid of her as well as of himself, afraid to move, afraid to think. To rest for ever was his wish, and even a prison seemed a a resting place. Let the officers come; they would find him ready. He became conscious at last of the opening of a door of a step upon the floor. When he dared to look, he saw the tantalising baby eyes of Armande Bejart, her curls, and her chubby arms. Seizing her frenziedly, he drew her to him, hugging her to his breast so im petuously that she cried out in pain and had to be soothed with his kisses. " Armande, my sweetheart," he cried, " why are not grown women innocent and pure like you? Why must there ever be some past with its shame? Ah, if I could only teach you to know no love but mine, if I could keep you innocent through life ah, little sweetheart, then should I be happy, and this wretched life of mine worth the living ! " Not understanding, the child gazed wonderingly into his tortured face. " What Mo-mo want ? " she asked. " Love ! " he cried out in despair ; " love ! " Swiftly he clasped her to his heart, while the tears he had longed for flowed freely. His heart came throbbing to his 288 FAME'S PATHWAY throat, its ebbing misery draining it of all except the hope that this one love which seemed so pure might last and never be defiled. In womanhood he saw her, a lovely rose in bloom, her heart full opened with a woman's love: but the child saw only a vexing man who did not laugh and play with her as was his wont, a man who wet her with his tears and hurt her in his tight embrace. With her little fists she struck him and forced herself free, then pointed a tiny finger in scorn. " Cry-baby ! cry-baby ! " she taunted him with a childish laugh. " Make funny faces, then Armande love Mo-mo." " Again the turkey of farce ! " he sighed ; and angrily dried his tears, for the child's mockery had left him at the mercy of Trinette. Walking to the door, he flung it open with a jar that shook the rafters. Upon the threshold he met Bej art, the stutterer. " I am going, Joseph," he said, brushing him aside. " Madeleine will tell you why." Fighting for breath, afraid lest he falter again, he hastened through the dark hall till a woman's hand seized the sleeve of his doublet. "Wait, Moliere, wait! for I must have word with you." The voice was that of Catherine Bourgeois. Ill- naturedly he turned and shook her off and ran down the steep, reeky stairs he had ascended so wearily. To es cape, to be free, never to see that wretched habitation or its inmates more, were the thoughts that crowded his febrile brain. But Catherine Bourgeois was not to be so easily re pulsed, for, while he ran, she ran, too, until, in the moss- grown court-yard below, she overtook him. "What do you want?" he asked, brought to bay at last by this slim, panting girl, her chestnut hair dis- CATHERINE BOURGEOIS SPEAKS 289 bevelled, her dowdy dress undone, her pale lips trem bling with emotion. " I was in the kitchen. The door was ajar. I heard what you said to Madeleine I saw her eat her heart out for you, Moliere. You behaved like a scoundrel! You do not deserve a true woman's love ! " " Since you make so bold as to call me harsh names/' he answered her stingingly, " let me tell you that Made leine's lover is the Baron de Modene, not I ! " White and furious, she shook the arm she had grasped to restrain his flight. Her words ran from her in a flood of protest, half bitter, half entreating: " I was with her when she went to Renard's Garden. I heard her plead for Monsieur de Modene's assistance, yes, plead because of her love for you. To his evil lips she told him of it while he implored her to return to him. Because Mon sieur de Guise, and that vile creature whose word you believe, overheard her, he made a show of generosity to save his wicked face. With me she came away, not a word of love having passed her lips; and from that day to this she has not seen him has he not been at the wars with his master? " Gaining passion as she spoke, she went on, her hands fluttering, her voice breaking: " It was your safety she sought, not hers! Fausser and Dubourg had come with a warrant for your arrest. She fought them off with promises; and to obtain sufficient money to stay their greed, she tramped afoot to Renard's Garden under a sweltering sun, there to plead for you to the man you basely accuse of being her lover. There, Moliere, that is the truth, as God is my witness ! Go to the drab who has bewitched you, if you will; but you do not go un knowing this." 290 FAME'S PATHWAY Abhorrence possessing her, she turned away. Smart ing from the lashing she had given him, he stood trem bling both from anger and shame, yet stung with mis giving. If she spoke aright, he was a miscreant; yet those hot words might have been cooked by Madeleine and given this girl to serve. His glance fell on the stairs he had descended. " No ! " whispered the voice of the mean spirit lurking in his breast; "it is futile to re turn, for she will not pardon you. It is wiser to go straightway into the fond arms that await you. Only thus may you end this torture." Contending passions filled his heart impelling him to go to the temptress, to stay his steps, to laugh at his qualms, to heed his generous impulses, to go far away and never see malignant Paris more, or better still, to throw a useless body in the Seine and let a tormented soul escape from its thrall. With a cry of anguish, he turned without reasoning why a deplorable temptation goading his steps, for the thought of a restful river had grown strong within him. To its bank he hastened, there to watch it flow unceasingly toward Rouen, where his hopes had risen. His life was at its nadir, dark and tedious as that river speeding toward the infinite sea. Let it bear him thither ! Seized with this unconscionable thought, he leaped the parapet of the quay on which he stood, and ran to the water's edge. The Seine was alive with barges and wherries; ship wrights were singing merrily. The river flowed entic ingly; yet pride, the mentor of youth, told him that if he were hauled dripping from the stream, amid the laughter of those merry artisans, he would present but a sorry picture. Moreover, he was utterly exhausted and CATHERINE BOURGEOIS SPEAKS feared that he had not the strength to force his wretched head beneath the waves. To his feverish vision, the brown river and the yellow sands grew dark as his tormenting thoughts. Overcome by sheer fatigue, he flung himself beneath the prow of a stranded barge. To rest in its shade till nightfall was his wish; then, when the shipwrights and the boatmen were gone, the river black and silent to rest for ever! When he awoke, the day was only waning; yet even a fitful sleep had so refreshed him that he arose with some little bravery in his heart. Gazing at the river, he shuddered, for it was no longer tempting ! " The hour of four ! " he thought, as the clock on the Pump of La Samaritaine struck the time. " Have my comrades attempted to play this day ? " Ah, what had they thought of him, he wondered, the deserter ! the cow ard! ay, thrice a coward! There was no other word for him. Wearily he dragged his stiffened body to its feet; for, although he had shattered his love in irreparable frag ments, he had not withstood his comrades' scorn. A craven, leaving the woman he had spurned to tell of his going while he skulked away that was the pitiful figure he made. Moreover, if the story he had been told of her fidelity was true, he was unworthy to touch the hem of her garment. But the past was beyond redress. He must choose the wanton way, or the way of duty. In his mind was a vision of the temptress. The air was fragrant with lavender; her glance was imploring. " Monsieur de Guise was generous to me," her red lips murmured ; " ah, let me pay those harassing debts ! " He, beholden to a woman for his debts ! His awakened manhood cried, " Perish the thought ! " and, trembling FAME'S PATHWAY with the shame of it, he stepped forth vigorously, in his heart a firm resolution to face his comrades' anger like a man, to bear the sting of Madeleine's contempt. In the sand at his feet he saw a piece of shining metal. A silver livre! Bright omen of the future! Enough to stay his hunger too, he thought, for he was sorely famished. CHAPTER VIII . IN THE LAND OF THE BLIND WHEN Moliere left the lodging in the rue des Jardins, Madeleine set herself to the doing of her household tasks with so little perturbation that her comrades thought she had suffered no more than a momentary ruffling of her accustomed calm a passing shower to redden her eyes with its tears, but not the bitter deluge that, in its sudden flooding of her heart, had drowned all joy. But she was not a woman to whimper. " Love," she thought, " is a gossamer the faintest breath may tatter. Mine has been shredded by the four winds. Faith, I must weave a new web for my life, and love is not the only thread to weave with. Happiness is only the habit of doing right a far more enduring fabric than love, I trow." Thus she argued ; and when her brother Joseph came, she was bearing her misery with fortitude. " M-m-moliere," Bejart stuttered, "told me to ask you why he went so hastily." " The officers of the law," said Madeleine evasively. " Does he think to avoid them by r-r-running into their arms? Sacredieu! he is as cunning as Gribouille, h-h-hiding in the water for fear of the rain." Madeleine said nothing, but went about her work. When Catherine Bourgeois returned, she motioned her to silence, Bejart, meantime, bethinking him of a new trouble. " With Moliere g-g-gone," he sighed, " we cannot p-p-play this day." *93 294; FAME'S PATHWAY Madeleine answered him with resolution in her voice. " I will enact his part, for I am tall and shall make a tolerable man. I know the play well. When Rotrou penned it, he read his verses to me in order that he might judge of their resonance. Listen, Joseph: "'Thy dying Hercules, in Heaven or earth, Brings glory to immortalise thy name; And leaving here a temple to thy fame, His pyre becomes an altar to thy birth.' " I wrote those lines myself to glorify this very play. Believe me, I know it by heart. My own part is not burdensome. Catherine Bourgeois may double it with her own, for I shall be near to prompt her when she falters." Her cup of bitterness seemed overflowing, and she was forced to fight back her tears; yet she went reso lutely to the theatre and donned the costume Moliere should have worn a Hercules of moral strength, for beneath the lion's skin she wore, throbbed a valiant heart, though near to breaking. A handful of boatmen and stevedores from the near by quays composed the audience in numbers scarcely more than the players upon the stage. The pickpockets held aloof there being no pockets worth the picking; the king's musketeers had long ceased to grace that moribund play-house. Feeling that its knell had been sounded that day, the actors played listlessly, Madeleine alone acting with verve and courage. Like the Hercules she simulated, she felt that her life was filled with thankless tasks; still she played as she had never played, wringing deep pity for the woes she feigned, though her own were an an guish to moisten her eyes with the tears of them. The IN THE LAND OF THE BLIND 295 few who saw her felt her art was transcendent, and they applauded her lustily for the hero she appeared to them ; yet, to herself, she was only a woman hiding the wound in her breast from unfeeling eyes a wretched woman, whose love, like a dead flower, lay faded and bruised at the feet of him who had plucked it. Not for the world would she let her comrades see her bosom bared to the steel of Moliere's disdain, so she played her part unflinchingly until the curtain fell upon the tragedy then doirned a baldrick and rapier to be the bravo of the farce to follow. Her braggadocio and her strides made her appear a swaggering man though, in truth, she was a trembling girl wondering when pride would fail her. The laughter she evoked failed to com fort her; and when the meagre audience, loud in its praise of her, filed out of the theatre, she dared not fol low her mates to the tiring room lest they divine her distress. Her task was ended, her courage gone, and too dispirited to move, too dazed to think clearly, she stood bewildered in the centre of the stage, a hand clasped upon her breast, her eyes fixed in vacancy. An old comrade who had been in the theatre that day Charles Dufresne, the actor who had offered her em ployment in his strolling troupe came to congratulate her upon her fine playing. In the silent theatre, he found her dejected and alone, her plumed hat lying crumpled at her feet, her rapier hanging limp from its baldrick. " My dear," said he cheerily, " in all your life you never played so well." Startled by the sound of his voice, she wavered for a moment, but quickly recovered from the fainting that had seized her. " I am dead with fatigue," she said. 296 FAME'S PATHWAY " To play roles so foreign to my talent, was an undue strain." " Where is Moliere ? " asked Dufresne, half sus pecting the truth. Her heart sank to the depths of her. " Ah, my friend, a warrant has been issued for his arrest. He is evading the officers; so I am forced to play his roles. Do you wonder that I am tired ? " " Nay, Madeleine," said the veteran in a kindly tone, " I wonder only that you persevere in this wretched enterprise." " True," said she, the pathetic light in her eyes speak ing for her. " Better had I accepted the proffer of a place in your ranks." " It is not too late," he answered. " I go to Bor deaux to-morrow. If your brother and yourself ay, and your sister Genevieve too wish to join me there " " And Moliere ? " she asked furtively ; yet the moment she had spoken his name, her love for him lay like lead in her heart. " Ay, Moliere too," laughed Dufresne, " though for your sake, not his, since I hold his talent to be the stuffing of chairs." But she was steadfast to the genius of the man who had deserted her steadfast to her love, had she dared confess it. "The day may come, Dufresne, when you will repent those words." "When it does, I shall eat them," said the actor, gallantly kissing her hand. When he was gone, she sank upon a chair, her arms upon the back of it, her face hidden in her arms. Every cruel word Moliere had uttered had seared her heart, IN THE LAKD OF THE BLIND 297 yet not so painfully but that she pitied him while pity ing herself. In some way she must save him. This was her duty as she conceived it; yet when it came to the manner of it, she was at a loss for guidance. For a long time she sat motionless, pondering her distress. Then little Armande Bejart came romping to the stage and found her there. Her mother was now wardrobe mistress to the impoverished company; so the child was brought to the theatre whenever there was a performance in order that a watchful eye might be kept upon her. Hearing her sister's step, Made leine drew her hand up quickly and smiled to hide her dej ection. " Armande want Mo-mo ; Armande want cock-horse." " Moliere is gone," answered Madeleine sadly. " He will not play with you any more." For a moment the child stood with a puzzled look in her tiny eyes, then turning to her sister, she said in a tone of contempt, " Mo-mo gone 'cause he no love Mada." " Hush, Armande, hush ! " said Madeleine, the tears that dimmed her eyes making the child laugh mockingly. " When Armande big girl, she no cry for Mo-mo. She make Mo-mo cry " " You little imp ! " cried the actress, shaking her, then kissing her fondly. " Ah, if ever you dare to say such cruel things again ! But you did not know that you were breaking my heart you did not know. Come, let us play together and forget that he is gone. I will be the cock-horse." Brushing her tears away, she threw one leg across the other and trotted the child upon her outstretched foot 298 FAME'S PATHWAY as she had seen Moliere do. To stifle the pain in her heart, she sang this old song; its simple words express ing the depth of her own love: " If the king had given me Paris, his great town, Then demand that I agree On my love to frown, Thus King Henry I should pray: ' Keep Paris as of yore ; I love my darling more,' I'd say, ' I love my darling more.' " Her comrades and her mother, emerging from the tiring room, found her singing to the child. In the farce in which she had played, there had been a mock duel. The rapier thrown away by a trembling clown in his fright lay upon the stage. Joseph Bejart picked it up, and when he pricked her with its point, she uttered a startled cry and sprang to her feet. " Like the eels of Melun, s-s-sister, thou squealest before thou art flayed," said Bejart, laying the sword on the chair she had left; "yet thou d-d-deservest to be flayed, since this is no time for s-s-singing. Not a denier to pay our debts ! That, in p-p-plain French, is our predicament. In the land of the b-blind, the lame are k-k-kings. If ever there was a lame 1-1-leader, it is thou." " Ay," shrilled Marie Herve, " thou and the mis creant who bewitched thee ! The last sou is gone, so he leaves thee in the lurch. A pretty lover, even for a dalliance like thyself!" Even the child whose hand Madeleine held drew away from her, but she held her tightly, while trembling with the shame of this public torture. Her heart still IN THE LAND OF THE BLIND 299 thrilled with the persistent hope that some day she should be justified in Moliere's eyes, for loyalty, she knew, had purged her fault of long ago. Her family might revile her, but she was full of the consciousness of having done right. The strength of it made her turn to them and say with firm lips: " I have no excuse to make. I have done what I deemed wisest. We have failed, but Paris is not all of France. Let us begin anew." She turned her head slowly from face to face. Her mother's little eyes burned furiously with rage, her brother's were sullen, her sister Genevieve's unpitying. Germain Clerin stood gazing at the floor a despondent look in a face that hitherto had glowed with loyalty. Young Rabel was eyeing Catherine Bourgeois fondly while waiting for her decision, for he had joined this hapless company through love of her and would stay true while she stayed true. This faithful girl alone did not demur. " In truth, Paris is not all France," said she, ad dressing her words to the stutterer, " nor are you all this company, Joseph Bejart. I, for one, will let Mad eleine lead me whither she will. Since Paris will have none of us, to the king's high road, say I. In Rouen we were welcome. To Rouen let us go, and if the hearts there have grown cold, then to the confines of France ere we say die." When she stopped, out of breath, and feeling some pride at having spoken so zealously when those who should have been most zealous stood dumb, even Bejart grunted approval, while Marie Herve's tongue was awed into silence. "By my troth, Catherine Bourgeois," cried Made- 300 FAME'S PATHWAY leine, her eyes alight with gratitude, " you are a brave girl! From the depths of my heart I thank you." Meaning to kiss her, she went toward her with her arms outstretched, but her step recoiled. Seizing little Armande Bejart, she drew her instinctively to her as if to protect both the child and herself; for through the faded curtains on the stage came Trinette Desurlis with the stealth of a panther her tawny face on fire, her eyes savage with hate. White and rigid as marble, Madeleine bravely watched her enemy approach and waited for her to speak. With her gypsy skin and a crimson kerchief at her neck, Trinette was a picture of malevolence. The actors, divining the reason of her coming, made way for her. CHAPTER IX THE DEVIL'S OWN COMING from the tavern where he had stayed his hun ger, Moliere had seen Trinette hurrying toward the Black Cross Tennis-Court. Persuaded that her errand boded no good, he had followed, keeping within the shadow of the house walls. She had come high-headed, so had not seen him. Swiftly had she come, for, when he tarried beyond the hour of his promise, her resent ment was fanned to a white heat. Her passion once aroused, pride set no bounds. Hate was then a fierce master, love a consuming desire. As this vehement girl entered the theatre with rage unbridled, Moliere dogged her steps, his footfall barely audible. When she threw aside a curtain, he stepped behind it. Pale and trembling, he waited, mystified by her coming, amazed at her temerity waited to learn her intent. No sooner did she face Madeleine squarely than jealousy a serpent in her breast crazed her with its fangs. " What hast thou done with him ? " she cried in furious rage against the girl whom she supposed to have out witted her. " He is mine, understand, Madeleine Bejart, mine! and if he has been hidden or spirited away or killed for I see it is all a plot of thy blessed family thou 'It answer to me, thou rig, thou daughter of a rig! " Before this fury the actors recoiled. Enraged at the 301 302 FAME'S PATHWAY insult thrown at her, Marie Herve answered in kind. Madeleine restrained her. " Heed her not, mother," she said, her clear blue eyes alight with contempt. " Evil passions have mastered her. She is a girl without shame." " Thou darest talk of shame," flouted Trinette, " thou whose shame is publicly inscribed. Mordienne, thou 'It not cow me! He is mine, my fine lady his lips have kissed mine, his arms have entwined me, too, in a fonder embrace than ever was thine. Dost thou fancy I shall let him go? Thou knowest me not, pardi, if thou dost, foul thief of a girl ! Shameless, foul thief ! " Moliere, listening to this ribald diatribe, his eyes blaz ing beneath serried brows, could not believe he heard aright! This hussy without womanly modesty the temptress who had beguiled him that very day! But if the shrewish picture she made with her swarthy face on fire, her black hair dishevelled, was hateful to him, Madeleine fired the soul of him with shame. In her man's doublet and small-clothes, she stood, brave as any man. When she spoke, there was no hesitation in her voice, no stammering of fear. Hers was an arrogant disdain, a contempt that had in it her superiority. " Catherine Desurlis, the way to the door lies there." Her hand pointed to the curtains. Her look was as still and cold as freezing water. It drove Trinette to frenzy. " I '11 not be ushered out by thee ! It is a plot against me! A nefarious plot thou and thy vile family have hatched!" Marie Herve could hold her tongue no longer. " Out with the trull ! out with her ! " she cried, puffing her cheeks with rage. THE DEVIL'S OWN 303 " Ay, out with her ! " echoed Catherine Bourgeois. Lean Bej art's tusks were bared. "If ever there was a b-b-baggage, it is thou ! T-t-tonnerre de dieu, I '11 have thee out myself ! " He took a forward step, rolling up his sleeves as he spoke and doubling his skinny fists. Trinette made ready to thwart him. Moving with the sleekness of a cat, she uttered coarse taunts. Around the stage he followed her, seeking a chance to seize her. Alert and lithe, she evaded him, ever keeping an open space be tween them. The actors, forgetting her effrontery, laughed heartily at the stutterer's discomfiture. Angered, he made a clumsy dash for her. She dodged adroitly, ran, dodged again, and while he passed her, panting his rage, she, stepping sidewise, hit a chair. The sword he had picked up to badger Madeleine fell to the floor. With a cry of joy, Trinette seized it be fore he could stay her; and deft as an arrow, turned to face him, the blade pointed at his breast. " Back, thou soul of mud," she cried in exultation ; " back, or I '11 kill thee ! " Before the gleaming steel Bej art recoiled. The women screamed their terror; Rabel and Clerin rushed upon the mad girl to wrench the rapier from her grasp, but she, not to be taken unawares, wheeled toward them, her rapier at guard, her slender foot in line with knee and shoulder. " Come on, you poltroons, and be spitted for hell's roasting ! " she cried, backing toward the curtain behind which Moliere stood, her intent being to guard against an attack in flank or rear. Bej art and his fellow-players stood cowed by her weapon. Seeing them at bay, the maddened little 304 FAME'S PATHWAY creature turned upon Madeleine, standing as she had stood, with Armande Bej art's hand in hers a proud, undaunted girl whose beauty was enhanced by the con tempt in her lustrous eyes. " A man's sword hangs at thy side/' Trinette sneered. " Draw it and be a man, for I '11 not spare thee as I have these milksops no whimpering baby shall shield thee, I swear ! I give thee the chance of a fair fight though, and may the best man win ! " " It is not a fair fight," said Madeleine calmly, " for I have not your skill." " A fair fight," cried Trinette, " for I '11 fight thee and thy comrades too! Let the first come to thy aid who dares ! " Unloosing Armande Bej art's hand, Madeleine, goaded by the girl's venom, seized her sword hilt. Her enemy, grinning as a panther grins, with a lip curled back to show the teeth beneath it, voiced defiance : " On guard ! for, by the devil's horns, I mean to kill thee ! " Calmly Madeleine drew her rapier from its sheath, her eyes pale as the blade of it. Bravely she faced her enemy, for cowardice she could not abide, and seeing the men about her with faces blanched, her heart beat courageously. She was no fighter, but the fight was hers: none should say she shirked it. Murderous hate shot from Trinette's eyes. The point of her rapier rose, the hilt was lowered; but while her arm curled upward, Moliere, stepping from behind the curtain, seized her. She fought to free herself, but he wrenched the sword from her grasp and hurled it beyond her reach into the empty pit. He had stood a dazed witness of this unseemly brawl, yet seeing not how he could justify himself in Made- Moliere stepping from behind the curtain, seized her THE DEVIL'S OWN 305 leine's or any honest eyes. When her sword flashed from its scabbard, red blood quickened in his veins. He could not be so despicable, he vowed, as to let women fight for him, so mean as not to stay a quarrel caused by his unworthy act. Trinette, adroit and graceful in an attitude of fence, Madeleine in brave awkwardness before her! The sight stirred him to manhood. When Trinette's sword clanged harmless upon the floor, he turned to her. " Stay your anger, Trinette. I alone am to blame. I should have come at the hour I promised." She stood clasping the wrist he had hurt in wrenching the sword from her grasp. " This quarrel is mine ! " she cried, her quick-rising breast straining for breath. " Out of my way ! " Quietly he stepped before her. " Madeleine has not liarmed you. Vent your anger on me ! " The girl answered him with derision. " Thou in the liero's role! A cullion well cast, since women and base cowards aid thee! A cullion did I say? A gull I mean the gull of yonder jade!" Like her comrades, Madeleine had stood transfixed with amazement at Moliere's unforeseen appearance and the disarming of Trinette; but when the girl's hate emitted this new affront, she lifted her head proudly. Her eyes sought Moliere's and remained steadily on them. "Is it just that I should bear these insults? Have I done aught to merit them ? " " No, Madeleine, it is not just," he said. Trinette answered him, her beauty fierce and mock ing. "If you take her part, you recreant " " I speak the truth, Trinette," he said, cutting short her words. Turning to the actors, he addressed them: 306 FAME'S PATHWAY " The quarrel you have witnessed is of my making. The fault is not Trinette's, for I plighted my faith with her and did not keep it. It is not Madeleine's, for she has behaved nobly. Mine only is the fault." Trinette's glance grew fiercer and blacker. " A pretty vindication ! And what of me ? Tell her I spoke truly when I vowed that your arms have held me in a fonder embrace than ever was hers ! Tell her you know her shame and despise her for it ! " He could not gainsay her, for he had done all she averred ! But to make this mean charge ! To denounce before her comrades one who had borne herself so finely, one whose love for him had been far truer, he began to fear, than his deserts ; nay, that he could not do ! "I '11 keep my word to you, Trinette," he said, " but not one syllable to j ustif y myself will I utter." But this partial victory was not to her taste. He must be all or nothing an idol for her wantonness, or the dirt of the street. " So you'll keep faith with me and champion her betimes, you white-livered dupe ! " she cried with stamping foot. " Mordienne, I '11 none of you!" Moliere tried to speak, but the actors closed about Trinette to howl their rage. " S-s-sang dious!" shouted Bejart, "no more of thy filth." Marie Herve shrilled again. " Out with the skit ! out with her ! " Fists began to double, angry eyes to glare, till Mo liere raised a restraining voice : " Nay, comrades, no more baiting of Trinette! The fault is mine, I say." " Since she is thine, take her away ! " rang a clear note the voice of Catherine Bourgeois. THE DEVIL'S OWN 307 Trinette hissed in reply: "His? He belongs to yonder light-o'-love! Gladly will she have him back, even though I have cast him off ! " Madeleine's red-gold hair shone in the flame of her burning cheeks, but she said not a word. Her mother, seeing her silent, turned upon her. " Thou standest there like a coward. No daughter of mine art thou! Answer her, I say ; confound those lies of hers ! " Madeleine's blue eyes did not falter. "Nay, mother," she said quite calmly. " I '11 not so foul my tongue." Trinette had no such reticence. Her scorn broke like a white squall. " Foul her tongue forsooth ! She has no answer : she knows I speak the truth ! " Marie Herve's child stood clinging to her, having gone to her when Madeleine drew her rapier. " Drat such cowardice ! " the shrew said, wrenching Armande's hand from the skirt it held and shoving her toward Madeleine, " Take the child, give me thy weapon ! " With her insolent eyes half-closed, Trinette watched this scene, her little head thrown back, her bosom heav ing defiance. Seeing the child standing perplexed be tween her mother and her sister, a hateful thought flashed through her evil mind, " Yes, go to thy mother," she laughed, pointing to Madeleine. Seeing a pair of wicked eyes fixed upon her, little Armande Bejart fled to Madeleine's side to hide her frightened face and cry. " Look, Moliere ! " cried Trinette in an ecstasy, " a picture for your eyes Madeleine and her love- child ! " For a moment the only sound in the theatre was the child's sobbing. Moliere was too scandalised to speak. He and the onlookers stood pitying Madeleine, yet 308 FAME'S PATHWAY stunned to silence. She, raising a proud face to a malig nant one, met her traducer's scorn with honest eyes. " If ever there was a calumny," she said, " you have uttered it!" Trinette's voice had in it a cry of derision. "A calumny? Pouf! The evidence is inscribed in the Church of St. Eustache! The child's name is changed. Simple matter indeed. A mother past the fruitful age then mothers her to save a daughter's repute. A likely tale, pardi ! All Paris will believe it ! " Madeleine's eyes searched Moliere's for a ray of pity, but their appeal was needless. This tainting of the living with the shame of the dead ! Was ever a greater cruelty conceived, his offended heart cried out. He had been this woman's dupe, had loved her for one wild hour; but her infamous words turned what passion he had borne her to relentless hate. To make the only amende possible was clearly his duty; yet what a pitiful amende it seemed after the mean part he had played! In truth, what hope had he for Madeleine's forgiveness? There was none, could be none, yet speak he must. " Catherine Desurlis," he said, his voice quivering, " for that lie there is no excuse! You are a woman without a heart. I break my troth " But his words were drowned in a tumult of anger. The girl's infamy had dawned at last upon Marie Herve, Joseph Bejart, and his sister Genevieve on Clerin and Rabel too, each with a man's bone to pick. In a tor rent of rage, they charged the girl, sweeping Moliere aside. To be the first to clutch her, they fought each other, while she struck out at them to fend them off. Their fury spurring them on, they struggled, cursed, THE DEVIL'S OWN 309 and howled for all the world like a pack of terriers at a cat. While they battled, Marie Herve screamed ribaldry. Madeleine begged mercy. Moliere, too, was averse to this ruffian's game; and helped by Catherine Bour geois, he dragged the women off, then pommelled the men and cried shame to them. When Trinette emerged from the broil, her skirt still clung to her, but it was sadly rent, and the sleeves had been torn from the wrists Rabel and Clerin held pinioned. "Thou hell-wench!" said Bejart, shaking his thin fist in her face. " Enough, brother, enough ! " protested Madeleine, " Remember your manhood ! " The girl, straining at the arms that held her, testified her insatiable hate. " I want not thy help ! " she said, her eyes burning like pits. Madeleine, erect and cold, stood frozen to silence. "If ever thou d-d-darest to set foot in this theatre ! " said Bejart, his thin face livid. " Or to give voice again to that scandalous lie ! " cried Moliere, still trembling with abhorrence. It would be idle to say that Trinette was pleased with the course of these events. She had come to bear Mo liere away a spoil for her triumph for never had she loved him save as a wanton. Before her defeat she had stood possessed with a rage that dulled, for the time being, her wits, but suddenly the affair had shaped itself in a way that gave her the chance she sought and she had seized it with avidity. If ever a flouted girl had excuse for a mean revenge she felt certain it was she. It had been sweet; for she had seen Madeleine raise 310 FAME'S PATHWAY a pale, twitching face and Moliere shiver. To bring contempt upon him who had dragged her into contempt, she, when he faced her, answered him with contumely. " What care I for either the threats or the kisses of an actor all Paris hisses, a skulking debtor sought by the police? " Turning her contemptuous glance to Madeleine, she continued: " To that lady I toss you back, sop that you are! The calumny, as she calls it, I '11 spread far and wide, for I aver it to be the truth. Moreover, it will be believed, since I, being of the Marais theatre, have more credit in the town than this entire company. Adieu, my friends, adieu." Rabel and Clerin still held her, but with a quick, downward jerk of her wrists against their thumbs a trick taught her by the fencer she had loved she wrenched herself free and darted between the curtains, her laugh echoing through the still theatre, and dying in the street outside. Rabel and Clerin eyed their comrades sheepishly. "The d-d-devil protects his own," said Joseph Be j art. CHAPTER X IN THE KING'S NAME " THOUGH Trinette is a baggage/' thought Rabel and Clerin, "morbleu! she is adroit." Clearly she had out witted them and outvenomed Marie Herve, so their ad miration, though reluctantly given, was none the less keen; yet they, be it remembered, had been mere on lookers interfering in an unseemly brawl. No love of theirs had been flouted, no child of their blood defamed, nor had they been made cruelly conscious of their own unworthiness. Of those deeply concerned, Marie Herve displayed the most malevolence. After imprecating Moliere and finding that he gave no answer, she took to berating Rabel and Clerin for letting a hussy escape a just vengeance. They shrugged their shoulders and laughed. Meantime, Joseph Bejart made off hand in hand with his sister Genevieve, his design being to let the affair simmer before attempting to cool it. " W-w-we, of all the family, are the 1-1-least con cerned," whispered the stutterer as they went. " Pru dence bids us be off." Striving to quell the distress in her heart, Madeleine vowed that she would bear in silence the scandal so vilely thrust upon her, for she felt that to give the lie to it would only give it tongue. Her eyes brimming, she raised the chair Trinette had overturned and sat down, hiding her quivering face in her hands. She had 311 FAME'S PATHWAY shown a proud front to her enemy, but when Moliere proved himself incapable of sanctioning that enemy's baseness, she had found it hard to restrain her joy. His shoulders bent as with age, his chin on his breast, old under the weight of his remorse, Moliere paced the stage. The crisis to which his conduct had brought him dazed him and turned him cold. He dared not look at Madeleine dared not meet the censure of her eyes. Confronted suddenly with Catherine Bourgeois's glance, he winced, for snatches of this girl's words rang in his ears : " It was your safety she sought, not hers. ... Go to the drab who has bewitched you, if you will; but you do not go unknowing this." "Thank God, I did not go!" he thought, "but I spoke unforgivable words to Madeleine." He bowed his head again and walked on, slowly, feebly, back and forth. He felt his heart beating, but could not think coherently, save that a vile creature had sought to ensnare him, and failing, had revenged herself in a way too contemptible for credence. " Yet that scandalous lie is unbelievable," he thought, when little Armande came toddling toward him, a child of scarcely three ; for that hateful entry, he remembered, had been upon the parish register of St. Eustache full seven years. His heart leaped with joy at the thought that Madeleine's word needed no vindication. And had she not long since paid the penalty of a girl's implicit trust? he asked himself; and was he not damnable in bearing her malice when the patient love she gave him was the tenderness of one who had learned life through, its sufferings, even as he was now learning it? So reasoned he as Armande Bejart came toward him. " Little sweetheart ! " he cried, snatching her fondly in IN THE KING'S NAME 313 his arms. " If my devotion can undo this day's infamy, ah, then it is undone ! " The child, finding him dull, turned her little eyes on him in scorn. " Mo-mo not brave," she said. " He no kill naughty woman." " No," he answered, " I did not kill her even though I fain would, for the wrong she did you." His heart despaired, but the sight of this child filled it with a sudden yearning. Innocence seemed to him the only happiness. If he could but shield this little Armande Bejart from the world's pitfalls, it might be hers. It was a visionary dream, but in that moment of wretchedness, it was consoling. The child, wearied by his gravity, struggled to free herself from his embrace. " Let Armande go ! " she cried. " Armande no like Mo-mo when he no play with her." With a sigh, he placed her upon the floor. Then, with tender bitterness, he said : " Go, little traitress, go ! I give you back your affection ; and seeing me thus kind, pray love me in revenge." Marie Herve, having screamed her voice hoarse, turned just then and saw him. With a cry of anger, she ran toward him, possessed with an imperious rage. " You wretch ! " she vociferated, " how dare you hold converse with my child ? " Moliere bent to the shrilling storm. Before the shrew could mouth more insult, Madeleine said firmly: " Enough, mother, enough ! Take Armande away, I pray; but do it without vehemence lest it give colour to Trinette's words." Being only a vapourer, Marie Herve contented her self with a few caustic words about a daughter bereft 3141 FAME'S PATHWAY of pride and shame. Gathering her child into her arms, she swept from the theatre, the screams of the unwilling Armande being audible long after the door to the street had been slammed. Rabel and Clerin shrugged once more. They would have laughed too, and appended coarse jests to their cachinnation, had not Catherine Bourgeois whispered them to be off, and gone hand in hand with them, having divined that the moment was an auspicious one for Madeleine and Moliere to be left together. Moliere stood silent on the stage where his heart had been chilled by hisses, where, within the hour, his folly had led to the undoing of the little happiness that had remained to him. " Surely proud Madeleine will not forgive the cruel words that have been spoken here," sighed he to himself, when they were alone. " I ought to feel more deeply the taint of his con duct," thought she, " to despise him for his unbelief in me, to see him no more." Yet her heart beat tremulously with words that said : " I cannot blame him for ever. Ah, let him ask forgiveness; let him ask it soon, so only he ask it." But these thoughts struck a sudden terror into her, for they revealed her weakness. His love was her hap piness, she knew, yet love requires trust to be love, and he, as she was very well aware, had given her full cause for doubt. In that moment when they were alone in the empty theatre, shadowy in the dusk of dying day, she prayed for the strength to deny him, her pride rising cold and stern to stay the acquittal a fond heart longed to give. He stood before her, pleading with his eyes, his lips afraid to speak. He was thinking of an island dense with IN THE KING'S NAME 315 beauty and the breath of flowers, thinking of the vows he had whispered while the winds sighed and the waters laughed. Now, in all humility, he realised how far afield his love had wandered. A contemptible suppliant he, with no right to the pardon he craved yet feared to ask. She was thinking, too, of the temple they had built upon a captivating shore a white temple stained by the storms of two distressing years. But she did not falter in what appeared her duty when he knelt before her and said with quivering lips, " Madeleine dear, no re morse of mine can make me worthy of your pardon, yet I ask it because I realise the wrong I have done you." " The realisation of a wrong is not its undoing," she said, a great restraint keeping her voice cold. He made a despairing gesture. " True, true," he answered in a piteous tone ; " yet say that I may prove myself sincere, say that you forgive ! " Her heart was beating fondly, her eyes were longing to respond to his, though she found a way to command the forces of her love. " I shall forgive you," she re plied, " when you have shown me that I may forgive." He seized her hand and kissed it. " Ah, Madeleine, my only hope is you, for success has passed me by." She had taken the measure of his love. Art was her rival, not Trinette ; yet when a loving woman ventures to be proud it is against the yearnings of her heart, so she began to pity and to be the mother of her lad. "Shame on you! " she said. " Rise up, be a man; for success comes from never despairing and always striv ing. You have a rare talent. Make the world laugh and success will no longer pass yon by." 316 FAME'S PATHWAY Her words had stung his pride too, but they had not made him forget the mean part he had played. " Hence forth you have the right to be as cruel as you will. I will wear a comic mask, if it makes you more merciful." She saw that a better understanding of himself had come upon him, but the spirit of endeavour, made drowsy by disdain, still slept his heart was still per verse in its folly. " Lean not on me, Moliere," she said, "but on yourself." Feelings that were his fondest self surged up, and they made him plead, not for his art, but for her plead in a despairing voice, " Your love, your forgiveness, do you deny me these ? " She longed to raise his bowed head and clasp him in her arms, yet dared not, for she knew that she must withhold him for his heart's ease and her own. " Ah, my friend, wait before you ask my love again. If this day has been a bitter lesson to you, think what it has been to me ! " He felt her doubt of him and divined her pride. He felt his own unworthiness too, yet knew her to be so gentle, so full of mercy, and so just that despair of her loss seized him; while, in her, the wish to see him chastened for his own good became as intense, almost, as her love. He wanted her, yet wanted, too, the appre ciation that had been denied him; she wanted nothing in the world but him. He, most wretched of men for so he believed himself was the slave of his own despair; she, having suffered most, was proud and free. If heart could speak to heart without medium of words, his would have said: "Ah, Madeleine, indeed I IN THE KING'S NAME 317 have been a wretched offender against our love, and you, more kind than my deserts, are just in withholding your forgiveness for how can you know, dear one, that I have loved you more within this hour than in all the trying days we have passed together? " Hers, a very proud heart, would have answered : " You, too, I love; yet to me you are no enigma. Having lost me, I seem to you a need, for you know me to be helpful and long most ardently to call me yours; yet love for me is not the only love that stirs within you. This traffic with Trinette I understand, for you were only the jealous instrument on which she played her tune of wanton ness. Yet swear to me that, were it now a choice be tween the world's approval and mine own, you would choose mine freely; and swear, too, that there lurks not still within your troubled breast a faith that some day you will find a love untarnished by a past like mine ; for, Moliere, I have read you like an open book. If I love you deeply, it is because I am a fond woman. Yet, though I love you, it will never be blindly, for I know both your weakness and your strength. Rise up, as I have bidden you, and strive to prove me right in holding you to be a gifted man ! Then will I be content to fol low where you lead and play the helpmate even though my heart be one day broken by neglect for you I love, you and the master-spirit I have seen shining in your divine eyes ! " Perhaps he understood something of this, for, while she gazed proudly upon him, his heart throve upon its own despair. Feeling it had suffered all it should in conscience suffer, it felt its meanness too, and from its depths there came the echo of her words : " Shame on you, Moliere ! Rise up ; be a man ; for success comes 518 FAME'S PATHWAY from never despairing and always striving." They shed a balm on his wounded spirit and gave him some measure of peace, so to become his watchword; for, when he heard rough steps before the outer door, he vowed that, harsh as his fate might be, it should not find him wanting in courage, nor giving to Madeleine another cause for shame. She, too, heard the steps and paled. When the door opened and closed and they came nearer in the dusk, she seized his hand tremulously, forgetting her disdain of him. Pressing it fondly, she whispered, " They have come, dear. Be brave." He knew the meaning of those clanking steps, but her words had tempered his terror with joy. " Fear not for me," he said. "Long have I expected them. They shall find me ready." He saw leering Fausser, the chandler, and sham bling Dubourg saw the scoundrelly bailiff they had brought, and the archers of police. No more should he skulk through the streets in terror of each shadow lest it be the law's for they had come at last, those fell officers he had so long evaded come at a propitious moment; for had not their coming made Madeleine merciful? He prayed that the duress might be the atonement she sought, for the pressure of her hand had filled his abject heart with hope. Let them imprison him! His crime had been to strive for glorious ideals their dull minds could not compass. Ay, let them do it, so that he might bear himself courageously and Made leine forgive! Thus the confidence of youth, that had been so sorely harassed, arose in his heart once more, and seeing glory in its martyrdom, glowed valiantly. When he stood before them, his head high and his IN THE KING'S NAME 319 arms folded scornfully, the chandler and the draper blinked rage at him. " Thou slippery knave ! " said the one, " we have searched through every dark hole of Paris, and here wert thou calmly hiding in thy play-house where all the world might come an it would, and we least likely to look for thee. A clever knave, I trow ! " "Ay," broke in the other; " had it not been for a jade we met, we might have been searching for thee still a tawny jade who bears thee no good will, I swear; for, seeing us, she ran to tell us where thou wert concealed and urged us to make haste." His blear eyes twitching malevolently, Fausser cut short his companion's words. " There is thy fellow, arrest him ! " he called to the officer, who stood with a warrant crumpled in his podgy hand. The man, used to such business, made a short shrift of it. Seizing Moliere's sleeve, he said in a voice that twanged through the still tennis-court like a wheezy fiddle, "Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, ycleped Moliere, in the king's name, I arrest you." CHAPTER XI THE AWAKENING WHEN the doors of the Grand Chatelet closed upon him and he was thrust into the prison-yard, the fortitude that had sustained Moliere until that moment was undone by the sights that cowed his trembling eyes. Alas! in that noisome place he must live, comfortless as the prisoners who fellowed him with hoots and jeers hundreds of wretches like himself, hounded thither by creditors; criminals, too, awaiting the gibbet or the galleys. Their glassy eyes staring at him in the dusk, their hair grown long, their faces blotched, their cloth ing rotting on their flesh, they swarmed round him to curse and scoff and drag the very coat from his back that it might be sold to the turnkeys for a measure of cheer. This was the greeting that awaited him, this the place to which he had been brought in expiation of his folly. His fellow-prisoners, groping in the prison compound, open only to the starlit sky, wailed like the damned, as night fell mournfully. These lines of Clement Marot, inspired by that very gaol, the Chatelet, haunted him with their sinister truth: " I'm sure there is on earth no place to dwell So like to a foul hell. I said a hell; A hell well may I say; for if this curse To see you'd go, you'd find it to be worse." Indeed, far worse than any hell, thought he, was that 320 THE AWAKENING 321 inferno with its stenches and vermin its reeking humanity. When he sank at last upon the dank straw that was his bed, it was to lie distraught amid a horde of groan ing men herded together like unwashed sheep. In vain he courted sleep, for the events of a day that had been the most woful of his life had left him with trembling nerves and strength exhausted. It was only a few hours since he had stood beside Trinette in the sacristy of St. Eustache since he had gone to the river bank! To him it seemed a lifetime; while the thought of that swift-flowing river made him shudder with regret, for had he ended his wretched life when the temptation was upon him, then had this suf fering been spared him. For hours he tossed; and, tossing, his misery grew more keen. It was physical misery now, with aches in his weary body and pains in his burning head the misery of sleeplessness when sleep is the only anodyne for a tortured soul. When at last he slept, it was a fitful sleep ; and when he awoke to daylight, he was not conscious of having slept, so like were his disturbing dreams to the distorted thoughts that had filled his weary mind. The day broke more piteous than the night. A mid summer sun, beating upon the crowded yard, forced the wretched creatures there to fight for the shade of the walls; only to fight again like hungry beasts for the bread of charity. Had not Pere Vincent de Paul, worthiest of saints, begged food for them, even crusts would have been denied these starving unfortunates. The meanest thief might eat the "king's bread"; but, unless the creditors who had imprisoned him paid for his keep, Moliere, the penniless debtor, had a right 322 FAME'S PATHWAY only to water at the discretion of his gaolers. That Dubourg and Fausser were ruthless, he learned when he asked for food. No charity of theirs would succour him. The sun beat mercilessly upon him; his eyes grew callous to the horrors of his gaol, his nostrils to its stenches, his ears to the lewd jests of his mates. He, too, cursed his fate, and finally, his anguish became a mere craving for food even the wish for freedom grow ing paltry beside it. Wretched he had been before his imprisonment, so wretched that he had meditated death; yet there is no misery like hunger, he learned, no abasement too low for it to compass. His starving fel lows, fighting for the crumbs of charity, were kept from rending one another by the staves of the gaolers. How long would pride sustain him, he wondered how long before he, too, would be a ravenous beast contending for a crust in the offal of that prison-yard ? Yet pride did sustain him throughout a ruthless day. When, famished and faint, he sank upon his loathsome straw, he lay again with eyes that would not close, his brain in a feverish confusion, a pain at the base of it so acute that it seemed unbearable. Hour upon hour he tossed, now hot, now clammy cold, yet sure that he was slowly going mad. Every nerve in his ill-nour ished body twitched; his head burned like a raging fire that surely must consume it ere the morning come. Gazing into the depths of the night, he cared not whether he lived or died, so only he might sleep un- haunted by misery and hunger. The light of another day shed no ray of hope upon him; yet he found himself less friendless than he had thought, for, when the sun rose once more above the THE AWAKENING 323 harsh battlements, it was Friday, the day of " the prison ers' pot," when the wardens of the churches brought charitable gifts, and friends of the miserable inmates came to comfort them. Among those who stood at the gate was Madeleine; and when her turn came to be ad mitted, she in the hurried moment given her, pressed a gold pistole into Moliere's hand, turning away her glance lest he ask her whence it came. For it, she had pawned a dress her last, save the one on her back. Yet he was too dazed with the joy the sight of her had brought to ask aught but a fond word. This she withheld, though it cost her a bitter pang. " Ask it not," she said. " Remember we are but com rades now or shall I say dear friends who have suf fered deeply together? " He, understanding, bowed his head. " Do not despair, my lad," she continued, a look of sympathy in her frank eyes to gladden him. " Do not despair. A way to free you will be found; that I promise." When she was gone, he turned to the noxious sights about him, yet seeing only her with the sunlight glinting the red-gold hair that crowned her lovely head. No longer was he friendless, for she had come to cheer him with her promise that a way to free him should be found, come with the wistful light of her eyes to fill his heart with confidence. Had her love for him been dead, he knew that she would not have come. He had been a sorry traitor to her, yet she had forgiven him. The tenderness of her glance told him that, even though her lips had refused the pardon he sorely craved. Thus, in the joy her coming had brought, he forgot his hunger and misery. FAME'S PATHWAY He clutched it tightly the pistole she had given him lest the starving should wrench it from his grasp; but they, besotted in their own distress, thought not of him nor his windfall. Left free to seek his gaolers, he purchased food of them, and the privacy of a cell. When he had devoured the coarse fare they brought, he threw himself upon his pallet to lie there in a dull stupor, too weary to think or even to dream. The cracks in the pavement of his cell, the iron bars in his window, the chinks in the wall where stone met stone, absorbed his tired mind throughout that day with a dreamy kind of interest; for, although at the bottom of his thought there was a consciousness that he was still a prisoner and this dreary place his cell, it was the consciousness of fatigue, the vague perception of a weary soul a shapeless phantom permeating his thoughts yet seeming to have no real existence there. Freed from that compound with its vermin and stenches, freed from the vile companionship of criminals, his im prisonment was robbed of its gall, his cell become a place wherein to repose his weary mind and nerves, till Madeleine's promise of freedom was fulfilled. That night he slept soundly. When he awoke, it was to feel more refreshed than for many a day. His waking agony did not return. It was pleasant to lie there undisturbed and with hunger no longer daunting him, pleasant to rest hour upon hour without hindrance or interruption, even though the resting place were a gaol. During the two years that had passed since he left his father's roof, not once had he been free from overweening ambition, free to commune with himself or take count of his blunders. Viewing those years in calmness, he saw that they had led to nought. Valiantly THE AWAKENING 325 had he striven for his ideals. The fruits had been hisses and persecution and now the prison bars. "Why," he asked himself, " has success passed me by ? " The answer came from the depths of a heart made wise by experience. " Because I would not rant like Montfleury. Yet it is cruelly unjust; for if the theatre must ever be gauged by its dullest patrons, it is accursed. The successful actor is either a low buffoon or a striding rodomontadist. Better the buffoon, for he, at least, may portray human nature." Upon the blank walls of his cell his turbulent life became reflected phantasmagorially. Never before had he known himself, for his belief in self had blinded him to the errors that led him step by step to this cheerless spot. What a consequential, headstrong sham had he been how futile were his dreams! Nay, there was no denying the impeachment; for he saw himself an opinionated schoolboy trounced by the whipping mas ter because he had averred Horace and Ovid to be more human than Virgil; saw himself, too, an idle apprentice eyeing his father's customers the capricious ladies of rank, the bourgeoises who aped court manners, the fops, the sordid burghers, and the rascally valets. As a student he had revered Epicurus, yet never had he been less contented than as that philosopher's riotous votary. Alack! what nights of revelry he had passed in those tavern days. Still, he had not become a drunk ard like Chapelle. " Ah, what a mean, pragmatical thought ! " the honesty of his heart cried out. " Poor, generous Chapelle, undone by love of comradeship, he languishes, too, in a prison cell with no more to show for his life than I for mine. Yet he tried to restrain me from my folly, for, while dear Madeleine stood FAME'S PATHWAY slender and beautiful against a painted scene, he whispered, ' Come ; you are not cast to play the fool.' " A fool he had been, bent upon winning plaudits for a genius he did not possess. To blur a cruel vision of a surging pit with its insolent rabble, he turned his face to the wall; but while he despaired and the echo of hisses rang in his ears, he saw about him the burghers of Poissy laughing till the rafters of a tap-room trembled. " Then was my triumph," he sighed, " ignoble though it was. That little farce was mine; its pedant, my old teacher as near to life as I could simulate him. Yet I am no jack-pudding." " A goat must browse where he is tethered," came the scoffing answer of the merry hostess of the Golden Sun, her plump arms akimbo, her white teeth glistening. He shuddered, for he .heard Corneille, the Master, saying: " The aims of the stage should be lofty ; its honours sought by the noblest. Comedy is trivial, farce is vulgar." Somehow these words had lost their authority. Too academic they seemed, too uncompromising. ' Trivial ' to lighten the cares of the world with laughter ! " he cried in sudden revolt. ' Trivial ' to strip the libertines and hypocrites and hold them up to public scorn! Ah, can a man do any finer work than attack the vices of his time, even though the weapon be mere ridicule? Let Corneille fight with Melpomene's sword, for it is his weapon. If mine be the humble shepherd's staff of Thalia, I shall not be too proud to wield it. Heaven has given me a comic mask, they say. I have hidden it beneath a fool's cap ! " In misery he was learning the lesson honest Made- THE AWAKENING 327 leine had striven long to teach. A wretched debtor in gaol, he saw that heavy trials may become the stepping stones to greatness; only now, within those prison walls, had he begun to realise his limitations and his weakness. A new hope inspired him, yet was he shamed at the thought of Trinette and the part her witchery had made him play shamed because the echo of Madeleine's sweet voice was ringing in his ears. " Protest not too much with those eyes of thine," he heard her say, " for they were made to burn with jealousy and insatiable longing." CHAPTER XII THE SIN OF YOUTH MADELEINE'S task was made arduous by the duplicity of Pommier the usurer, Fausser and Dubourg being his stool-pigeons. Moliere had been imprisoned upon the chandler's warrant alone, for the draper, although abet ting the arrest, was holding his claim in abeyance until Pommier should have garnered the equity of Marie Herve's house. Unaware of this knavery, Madeleine, with the aid of a lawyer who dwelt near her in the rue des Jardins, attacked Fausser's small judgment so suc cessfully that the civil lieutenant ordered Moliere's release. Alarmed at this turn of affairs, Pommier threw aside his mask. His own claim being considerable, the prison doors were ordered closed ere they had opened, should a bondsman not be found willing to assure a weekly pay ment of forty livres during a period of two months. " Alas ! " sighed Madeleine, " so generous a bondsman is not to be had, for it is clear that the livres must come from his pocket." Walking beside her as she left the court room, Cath erine Bourgeois took her hand. " Dear Madeleine," she whispered, " I have received a small inheritance. Germain Rabel and I were to be married, yet willingly will I postpone my happiness in order that Moliere may be freed." 328 THE SIN OF YOUTH " No, my loyal friend/' said Madeleine ; " I cannot accept this boon! Ah, leave the stage before it is too late you and Rabel together ! " " Leave the stage ! " said the other in astonishment. " Surely you would not be content in any other lif e ! " Madeleine's eyes roamed wistfully. " Ah, my dear, our happiness is as fleeting as the praise we live for. Only in the wild moments of applause may we forget that we are vagabonds." " Yet you love Moliere," said the girl. " Yes, Catherine Bourgeois, in spite of myself." The younger actress understood, and said no more until they had reached the street. " There is something you should know," she faltered then. " Trinette ! " said Madeleine. Her voice trembled and so did she. " Yes," answered the girl ; " she has spread that scandalous lie far and wide." " Were I to deny it," Madeleine answered resolutely, " all Paris would believe her. Scandal travels with a vulture's wings." " Perchance you are right, for her lies were but Parthian arrows a farewell bolt to harass you. Mon sieur de Guise has sighed for her again. She has gone to the trenches at Mardyck. I saw her speeding toward the Temple Gate in a sumptuous coach." Madeleine said nothing. She was thinking of the time when she had tramped to Renard's Garden. She would go on another merciful errand, she vowed, but not to the trenches at Mardyck. Never should the Baron de Modene see her in the dust again. " Come, Cath erine Bourgeois," she cried, hope shining in her loyal eyes ; " once more I have need of you ! " She had 330 FAME'S PATHWAY thought of Aubry, the pavier, and straightway she went with the girl to his house in the rue Champ-Fleury. " Had I ever need of a friend/' she said to him, " you told me I was to come to you." " Confide in me," he answered benignly. When he learned of the civil lieutenant's decree, he picked up his broad-brimmed hat. " I will sign the bond/' he as sured her. "Oh, I am so grateful! How can I thank you?" murmured Madeleirre, through the mist of happy tears. " We have no time to bandy words," said the pavier, though he found time to kiss her paternally, as Cath erine Bourgeois saw. No sooner had the bond been signed, than Dubourg, the draper, played the role assigned him by Pommier. Again were the prison doors ordered closed. Dis heartened by this new development, Madeleine turned to the pavier. " I must plead for another favour ! " she said. There was a limit even to this good man's generosity. " Pardi," thought he, " a debtor's gaol will claim me too, an I call not a halt ! " Madeleine divined his qualms. " It is not more money that I ask. The one in all Paris who should aid Mo- liere is Jean Poquelin, his father. I fear me his door will not be opened to me. You are his friend will you not accompany me ? " " Diantre ! " answered the pavier, relieved to learn the boon she asked was so slight, " the old hunks can do no more than show us the door ! " Leaving Catherine Bourgeois to wonder at their temerity, and the lawyer to draw a new petition, they went to the upholstery shop in the arcades of the market- THE SIN OF YOUTH place. His beak-like nose travelling up and down the columns of a ledger in harmony with the movements of a skinny finger, Jean Poquelin, bent and wrinkled, stood with a quill behind his ear, adding the figures that were as the breath of his nostrils. His son was dusting bolts of taffeta; his yawning daughters were knitting listlessly. Upon Aubry and Madeleine, the upholsterer frowned over the rims of his horn-bowed spectacles; more urbane than her master, a cat that sat licking her sleek coat in the window mewed the only sign of friendliness the new-comers received. " Friend Poquelin,'" said the pavier, without any pother, " this lady is Madeleine Bej art." " This baggage ! " growled the upholsterer, eyeing her savagely. " Nay, my friend, she is a good girl, as I can vouch. Her errand is to plead for your son, that scrimp Pom- mier having gaoled him in the Grand Chatelet." " A place likely to cool his hot head," said Poquelin, slamming his musty ledger. " Out, both of you ! A trollop in my shop will injure custom! " Madeleine shivered but stood her ground. " Ah, mon sieur, for a paltry debt, will you let your son languish in a loathsome gaol ? " " He has dragged my name through the gutters of Paris ! " snarled the father. " Gaol is the place for him ! Let him rot there ! " Her pleading eyes met his stony pair, nevertheless she persevered, " He could not be a shopkeeper, mon sieur; he was born with a poet's heart." Going up to her quickly and pushing her toward the door, the upholsterer cut short her words. " Out of my shop, thou doxy ! Did I not tell thee to begone " 333 FAME'S PATHWAY Aubry laid a hand on his shoulder. " Hold thy wrath, friend Poquelin," he said. " Perchance this matter may be accommodated." On the way thither, he had learned from Madeleine that six hundred and thirty livres was the sum total Moliere had received from his mother's estate. Now the gossip of the town had held this lady to be rich; and putting two and two together, it seemed to him that Poquelin might not relish an accounting. " Your son Jean-Baptiste is in gaol/' he continued, " and I mean to have him out. It will cost me a pretty penny, but thereby I become his creditor. He had, as I understand, a legacy." Through the corner of an eye, Aubry saw the up holsterer shift his feet. " Now if he were freed, and with this girl, were to betake himself out of Paris," said the father, clearing his throat, " to save an honourable name from further disgrace, I might scrape together a moderate sum; though business is slack, I vow." Aubry addressed Madeleine. " This proffer concerns you." "I accept it," she answered, though distrustful of her ability to fulfil her part. " Summon a notary," said the pavier. " Not so fast, friend Aubry," shrugged the uphol sterer. " Once my son is out of Paris, I will reimburse you, yet nought will I place in writing lest there be some trickery." Convinced that, rather than permit an investigation of his executorship, the upholsterer would keep his word, Aubry accepted this oral assurance with a threatening rejoinder: "I shall fulfil my part of the agreement. If you fail in yours, I shall resort to the law." 533 " I am a man of my word/' said Poquelin, wincing. The pavier took Madeleine's hand. " Let us be off/' said he. " The old curmudgeon ! " he added when the door had closed. " He has defrauded the lad of a part of his inheritance the major part, I'll warrant." " It is as well," Madeleine answered sorrowfully, " for he would have squandered it." Yet she took heart at the prospect of his release a matter of speedy ac complishment, for when the court reconvened, he was ordered discharged on his own recognisances. When his prison doors opened, she was there to greet him. The moment, though joyous, was full of trepidation, she being in honour bound to persuade him to leave Paris : a difficult task, she feared, though she knew it to be for his good. Content, however, in the knowledge that Trinette had already gone, she bided a favourable moment to further this design. As she kept her own counsel, he attributed her reti cence to distrust, feeling it to be well merited; so the joy of his freedom was tempered by contrition. More over, he could not dispel from his mind the vision of the Chatelet with its horde of wan prisoners fighting for crusts in its filth. He felt he had grown older by a score of years, yet he did not indulge in self-pity. " What right have I to complain," he asked himself, " while there are starving wretches in the world I who have but to seek a more lucrative calling than tragedy? " The very word made him shudder ; no longer did it spell histrionic glory to him. " Of real catastrophes there are enough," he sighed ; " none need be feigned. Life itself is a tragedy to those who may not laugh." The forgiveness he yearned for, Madeleine withheld. His place by her side she denied him, and until her eyes 534 should lighten with grace, he dared not ask it. Mean while, she evinced toward him a gentleness that passed in his heart for friendship, though in her own it was fond love, restrained by a fear that, if her pardon were too precipitately given, it might prove of little value, so young was he, so unused to the bearing of life's burden. When he tried to express his gratitude to her for effecting his release, she hushed him by telling him to thank good Monsieur Aubrey, whose offices had freed him. Regarding her interview with Jean Poquelin, she swore the pavier to secrecy. " Let Moliere think," said she, " that you alone have compassed his release." Of the future the lad said nothing; yet far from planning the new campaign of tragedy she feared, he was seeking a way to regain her confidence. The very ardour of the quest made him taciturn, the love that rose to his lips being stilled by the knowledge that he had lost the right to voice it. To make him realise the hopelessness of further ef fort in the capital was her concern. " Let the pavier require indemnity for the bond he has given," thought she ; " let every comrade sign it. For the payment of this debt of honour incurred in his behalf, Moliere will hold himself responsible. Without credit and without means, even he must see that in the provinces lies the only chance of requital." In pursuance of this design, she plotted with Aubry, then called the company together in the Black Cross Tennis-Court, all except Moliere having been told that Poquelin the upholsterer, and not they, would be called upon to repay the pavier. Two notaries were present, the bond ready for signing. When it had been read, THE SIN OF YOUTH 335 Moliere averred that, having been freed from gaol, he alone should assume the obligation. Regardless of this protest, Madeleine signed the document. Catherine Bourgeois followed with alacrity, GenevieVe Be j art with less haste. Grinning at the thought that the upholsterer was to be mulcted, sallow Bejart then stepped forth to write his name with more celerity than he could have spoken it. " Let me not be the last to sign," said Moliere, seizing the pen. The names of Rabel and Clerin completed the roster of the shattered company seven players still loyal to the dying cause. The document having been signed by Aubry, the actors went their several ways. When all except Mad eleine had gone, Moliere sank upon a chair, burying his dejected face in feverish hands. No words of hers were needed to make him realise that the knell of the Illustrious Theatre had been rung. She, wishing to lighten his anguish, said gently, " We have done everything that can be done." " Except to begin again," he sighed. " In Paris ? " she asked, with fear in her voice. He did not answer, but leaving his seat, paced the floor silently, his head upon his breast. Suddenly he stopped before her. " You told me of an actor named Dufresne an old comrade who wished you to join his company." " Yes," she replied, a tremor of hope within her. " He has gone to Bordeaux in the service of the Due d'fipernon." He was trembling now. His eyes imploring her, he said: " Go to him, Madeleine, for Paris will have none 336 of us." A moment later he added, in a tone of bitter ness, " Perchance Bary the quack will have me among his buffoons." Feelings that lay beneath the long conflict she had waged feelings that were her deepest self arose to tell her that victory had been won. Her eyes brimmed. She held out a hand till it touched his shoulder. " Moliere dear/' she said, her heart beating joyfully, " your way and mine lie together." His hand caught hers and pressed it to his lips; he dropped on a knee beside her. " Oh, I am so ashamed, ashamed ! " he murmured. " I have been so perverse ! " Madeleine laughed in a low, thrilled tone. " You have been so young," she said. " That is your sin, Moliere." CHAPTER XIII THE WAY IS LONG UPON a morning devised by fate, they tramped the high road toward the west humble Moliere and the patient girl whose love for him had never wavered. In a peasant's cart rode Marie Herve and her daughter Genevieve. Little Armande prattled in her mother's arms; with adolescent cruelty, young Louis Bejart goaded the hobbling horse a joyous boy, glad to be upon the king's highway. In advance of this lowly car avan, Joseph, the stutterer, marched alert, his arquebuse upon his shoulder. Hateful Paris leagues behind her, Madeleine was fairly happy. With lightness in her step, she tramped a tall, pliant girl, radiant and free-moving. Beside her walked Moliere, the glint of resolution in his eyes, courage in his heart. Up the broad valley, over fields and forests and the dark-running Seine, came a breeze to cool them a wel come boon, for the sun shone hot, and a thunder-storm had left the steep road boggy. The earth oozed water where they trod, and the cart was near to being mired more than once, on its way to the table-land where stood the old chateau of St. Germain and the chateau neuf. Upon the hilltop, the reeking horse stopped to pant and stretch his skinny neck for water. On a bank of moss, Madeleine and Moliere sank wearily, Bejart urging them on in vain. 337 338 FAME'S PATHWAY Down a gully beside them rushed a newly swollen stream. The girl took off her shoes and stockings and cooled her feet in the water and on the grass, then bared her arms to the elbow and plunged them in the refresh ing current. Moliere picked a knot of wild flowers for her breast. Not an element of her charm escaped him, neither of glowing cheek, gold-tinged hair, of curling lashes, gentle eyes; for to him she was beautiful, and he felt that he owed her an unrequitable debt. The knowledge made him remorseful, and like a penitent, he hung his head, the words of love he longed to speak dying on his lips. His eyes wandered over the valley below. The roll ing hills were vividly green, the lowlands hazy in a veil of mist on far-off Montmartre, the sails of windmills moved sluggishly beneath the blue dome of heaven. He thought of a day long gone when, alone of a weary company, he had gazed at those windmills turning against an azure sky a day when his enterprise was bright as the sun overhead. Again the bells pealed far the noonday Angelus, and again was the fair girl beside him adorable, but of the light-hearted company that had slept upon the roadside then, only the Bejarts remained. Once more there was no turning back, even had he the mind to, for Paris had spurned him cruelly and only the high road, with its granges and tap-rooms, offered hope for the future. No longer was he Moliere the player, whose watch word was eternal joy, but Moliere the vagabond. " In human Paris ! " he thought, " city of greedy usurers ! " Yet he loved her, cruel and purse-proud, because he was Paris-born. He had learned many lessons since he had wandered through her streets with bantering THE WAY IS LONG 339 Chapelle, not the least being that the best preparation for great deeds is the ability to do little things well. A bevy of flowers rose, violet, white danced in the breezes on slender stalks a sunburst of colour, and Madeleine caught her breath in delight. She turned him a radiant face. " Ah, Moliere," she cried, " let us think no more of disappointment and failure ! Paris lies hidden behind yonder Mont Valerien, and with her, the cruel past. The storm has burst, the clouds have rolled away. See, the sun shines brightly now a presage of the future ! " "If you have forgiven me, dear," he said, and took her hand, " I can face the future without a fear, with out a regret." " Without a regret ! " she repeated, doubtfully askance, caressing the flowers beside her. He understood. " Nay, Madeleine, I spoke hastily. Our love can never be quite the same." She started visibly at his words, for they had recalled to her a phase of him that made the colour fly from her cheeks. " Not quite," she repeated slowly, " for our happiness must be built anew with comradeship for its foundation, patient and forbearing and without distrust." Her hand was still his prisoner, and he pressed it to his lips. " Yes, Madeleine ; without distrust. I promise." She looked at him now as though she had belief in him. " Ah, keep that promise, dear," she murmured, " for love has such a fragile life. When confidence is gone, love dies." She trembled in his arms when he took her there, and hid her face on his breast. When he kissed her fragrant hair, she nestled more deeply into her content. 340 FAME'S PATHWAY " To taste true happiness/' he whispered, full of hope and confidence, " this tenderness for one another may we guard for ever ! " " For ever ! " she repeated, thrilled by this assurance of his love. But when her brother ordered the forward march, and the peasant's cart rolled on, the clouds that had become so rosy were tinged with darkness for a moment by the kiss her sister Armande threw with her chubby hand to Moliere by the smile that light ened his sombre face. Yet to doubt whether his love would ever fail again seemed a sacrilege. When he took her hand, the clouds became rosy once more and golden-hued. " To-night we will play ' The Jealousy of Smutty- Face/ " he cried, his eyes alight with ardour, " play it at Poissy in the tap-room of the Golden Sun, then on to the south and Bordeaux. Remember, I insisted on this longer route. I wished to see once more those red- faced burghers moved to merriment to hear the rafters shake to their laughter. No more tragedy, my darling, life has tragedy enough our task shall be to lighten its gloom." Her smiling face, her throbbing heart were joys of his making. Exulting in the victory she had won, she encouraged him with word and look. " That little farce was true, Moliere. Let it be a stepping-stone." " Only a stepping-stone," he answered, " for I have learned the truth of your words : ' Success comes through never despairing and always striving ! ' ' Yet while he spoke with a voice full of courage, his dark eyes roved sadly toward the far-off windmills on Montmartre. He was yearning for vainglorious Paris, for her pleasures and even her sorrows. He could see THE WAY IS LONG 341 the flashing eye and quick-rising breast of Trinette, see, too, the sinister face of Modene. For a tremulous moment, his heart surged with jealousy and hate, ere the echo of hisses arose to shame him. Cowardice had called him a derelict to be pitied ; courage, a purblind fool to be chastened. Closing his lips firmly, he turned to the west. Hand in hand with constant Madeleine, he tramped behind the creaking cart where winsome Armande Bejart sat watching him with tantalising baby eyes. " Ah, but the way is long," he sighed, " from the purpose to the goal ! " Resolutely he had chosen the stony pathway toward fame. Above the pestilent mist in the valley where he was trudging so wearily, he saw her proud temple shin ing afar. THE END UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. ECE f AIN LOAN OCT 519 ED )ESK P.M. 3141516 ,9-42rn^8,'49(B5573)444 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 000 930 865 1